Safe Enough To Scream
by SkyeMoor
Summary: Two people call Hogwarts home. Not a house to simply live in, but a sanctuary. One might even happen to notice that they find it safe enough to scream.
1. Chapter 1

Fourth grade was ending in three days, Harry Potter thought with a sigh, looking longingly at the stacks in the library. I don't like summer, at all. Summer vacation means work work work - all the time! If only I could take the whole library with me... Harry nodded, knowing that he wouldn't possibly be able to afford that. Still, he worked with a will, pulling book after book out of the stacks. Though they might have looked "chosen at random", they really weren't. He made two stacks, one small, one large. The large one contained tattered books, ones where children had folded the pages over - and even one where a sixth grader had written some filthy comments in the margins. With a smile, he put that one on top. The other pile had only three books in it - the maximum that he was allowed to borrow. Not that anyone was allowed to take books out over summer holidays.

Forcing his face into an innocent seeming expression. He thought carefully, he was not mad about school ending, he was just a small and helpful boy. A small and helpful, innocent boy. Such thoughts repeated in a loop in his mind, until he was fairly certain he was convincing. At that point, he ambled (carefully not dawdling) to the librarian's desk, with the large pile of books, "Miss Rickett?"

"Yes dear?" She smiled down at him, as he laid a few books on the counter.

"I'd like to check these out please."

"Just remember that you need to have them back before the end of the year, or there will be a fine." She said with a smile. He was always such a polite boy.

"Yes ma'am." Harry carefully didn't mention that he wasn't planning to return the books before the start of the next year. He had already looked up the late fee, and he figured he could manage it without the rather dubious solution of finding a pawnshop that would take his oversize, tattered clothes. He had stood there a few moments longer than he ought, and thus he moved down to the reference librarian's desk, carefully sliding his checked-out books into his overworn satchel before reaching her.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Harry said, hardly able to clear the tallest book in order to see who it was.

"Yes?" The crisp voice identified her as Miss Giffleschlitz, a perhaps unfortunate name for such a lovely young librarian. Harry tended to avoid addressing her by name, as he figured it might conjure bad memories.

"I've found some problems with some of the books in the library... I was hoping you could help me with them..." Harry said, turning his eyes big and round.

"Of course, dear, what seems to be the problem?" She said as she relieved him of his heavy load. Harry carefully concealed a sigh.

Harry managed a blush, and said simply, "It's probably better if I don't say, I don't want to get in trouble!"

Curiosity sparked in those warm brown eyes, and the librarian began to rifle through the top book. As hoped, she responded by blushing even worse than Harry had thought she would. "Yes, I can see why you'd want this out of circulation. Are all the rest like it?"

Harry toed the ground absently with a toe, as he looked down, before abashedly looking up. "Not exactly, the others are ... more mendable. Torn pages, broken bindings."

"And you found all of these yourself?"

"Yes, ma'am." Harry said, pausing dramatically, "Actually, I was wondering if I could _have_ some of them? Is there any way - the ones that you don't want -?" His words had dissolved into incoherency, and yet the puppyish pleading in his eyes said more than words ever could have.

"Yes, of course, child. It's a just payment for saving me three days work." A thin smile played across her thinner lips, and she said swiftly, "But not that first one. It's got words in it that you oughtn't to be reading." Harry nodded solemnly. "You didn't read all the margins, did you?"

"No, ma'am." He said with a perfect smile.

As Harry left the library, his green eyes fairly sparkled with delight. Not even the rusting of the bushes that presaged a Harry Hunt could dim his enthusasiasm. He had twenty books! It felt like a fortune - and most of it for free!

[a/n: Even weighted down by books, Harry's a good deal quicker than Dudley. No need to worry.

The reader is encouraged to write reviews, but also to pay attention to characterizations.

This will be a long story (and start slowly), so if you're raring to read one that's finished, I have finished exactly one story. Go read that one instead.]


	2. Pottage

The day had broken crisp and clear, the cirrus clouds blowing in the stiff breeze. Harry Potter had exulted in the morn, cleaning as many of the roses of dead petals, clipping the hips and storing them inside a pocket. Just the thing, for Vitamin C. Sustenance, in other words, if of a most bare and mean variety. Some might have called it starvation rations, but, then again, them's not the ones that knew a gnawing belly as well as Harry Potter did. It was midmorning, Tuesday, before he was done with the outside chores. Dudley wasn't up yet, which was all to the good, because Harry Potter knew that the fat porker would want to be outside in such nice weather. Harry Potter was careful to be busy, always, when outside. _You never knew who might be looking._

Inside he was, before Dudley came down, demanding breakfast that Harry could never make quick enough for him. Well, there it was. Bacon and eggs, toast and biscuits, everything splayed out on the table in front of Dudley. Harry liked weekdays best in the summer - he got fed then, Dudley's leavings. On the weekends, his aunt was just as likely to have him throw out the extra - over some made up excuse or another.

Dudley left to see Piers - probably to be around some playset somewhere... And Harry set out a sigh of relief. In less than an hour, Harry had most of the day's chores done, and he curled up quickly inside his cupboard, a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling as he read. His eyes were bad, and likely to get worse at this rate, he considered. Yet, he never dared to contemplate reading outside. _What would the neighbors think?_ he heard, in his aunt's voice. Worse, they might mention it to his uncle. It was nearing the end of June, and he was rereading the book on fixing plumbing. Every single skill he learned, meant something done quicker.

Yet, outside his cupboard, there were still an hour's left of chores done. With deliberation, he had discovered the exact amount he was required to do while his aunt and uncle were home to supervise. He always left that much, and if Uncle Vernon was upset, he often got more.

That was the way it was.

[a/n: yes, yes, magic is coming. It'll come faster if you leave a review!]


	3. Dud's Birthday

It was Dudley's birthday today, and Harry Potter was up early - as usual. He was trying to cook a fabulous breakfast for the birthday boy (although he didn't give himself good odds of actually succeeding. After all, he wasn't allowed to use more ... anything, really... than usual). He turned the bacon out and onto the serving dish, giving a triumphant grin as he saw that it was just the perfect amount of crispness. Harry pulled the crumpets and scones out of the oven, and had them neatly sitting on the table, when Aunt Petunia looked up from her book in the living room. "Dudley! Happy Birthday!" She called, and Dudley said, "Coming mum!" Within three minutes, he was clomping down the stairs, his enormous bulk making the stairs creak noisily. Not much for sneaking him. He dashed through the kitchen, grabbing a rasher of bacon and stuffing the whole thing in his mouth.

Harry Potter stood at attention in the doorway of the living room, as Dudley's greasy hands started to paw through his presents. Despite the brand new bicycle and Gameboy, Dudley wasn't happy. He began to squeal and yell, throwing a mighty tantrum at the idea of not getting enough presents. Not wanting to be the target of his cousins' misplaced rage (or, more likely, Uncle Vernon's guilttrip about how it was all Harry Potter's fault that Dudley didn't get enough presents).

Harry went upstairs, starting to clean Dudley's room, looking jealously at the wide array of toys. Dudley's birthdays were a sort of birthday for Harry as well (he wasn't quite sure when his own birthdate was - the Dursleys didn't celebrate it, and nobody seemed to care that he wrote February 29th as his birthdate - Harry figured that was the least likely date, but _hmph_.), because Dudley would toss some of his old broken or worn out toys in Harry's general direction. Dudley seemed to not really realize that the toys he had "got rid of" didn't actually leave with the trash. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, seemed to actually _approve_. Handmedowns were what she thought Harry Potter _ought_ to have. Uncle Vernon was entirely too self-absorbed (and infrequently home) to really bother with Harry - which was fine by him.

Harry Potter heard the telephone ring, and he stood at the edge of Dudley's room, shamelessly eavesdropping. _Because, really, why shouldn't he? They'd expect him to know it all without telling him, so why shouldn't he learn while he could?_ "Oh, how awful! I can't believe your Siamese has distemper!" _That would be Mrs. Figg, of course. Aunt Petunia's wrinkling nose says she's not actually sympathetic, more thinking how this will rebound on her._ "Of course you've got to keep the poor dear company. No, I perfectly understand! We'll just have to take the hellion to the zoo ourselves." _Wow, for my Aunt that was almost kind... Wait - they don't mean...? I'm going to the zoo?_

In a flash, Harry was downstairs, hurriedly stuffing two scones into his pockets. _It's not like they'll bother to feed me, so I'd better get something while there's something to be got._ "Mum! Harry's eating before everyone again!" Dudley cried out, having spotted Harry stuffing his pockets.

Aunt Petunia looked up, and Harry tried out his most disarming expression, to zero effect. "He doesn't seem to be eating a thing, dear. Hurry up and eat your breakfast, and then we can go to the zoo. Won't that be fun?"

"But MOOOM! Look at his pockets!" Dudley said.

Uncle Vernon looked up. Harry froze, letting his expression return to true neutral. "Your pockets, boy."

Harry hesitantly showed the two scones, and Uncle Vernon said sternly, "No supper for you. You can keep your illgotten gains, but apologize to your cousin. He's a growing boy and needs to eat well."

"I'm sorry, Dudley," Harry said, schooling his voice to a sincerity that he didn't really feel. He wanted to make a face at the chubby boy, but Harry never got what he wanted, and was rather resigned to that fate.

[a/n: Yawn. Slight deviations are entirely Harry's fault. No other characters have been modified... so far.

Send me a review.]


	4. Terrible Lizard

"Get in the car." Aunt Petunia said coldly.

Harry Potter looked at her with a quizzical expression, to which she responded, "Mrs. Figg's cat is ill. You'll come with us to the zoo, and we'll get an extra day's labour out of you - you'll just have to work harder to accomplish it."

Harry Potter looked slightly grim and gave a quick nod. "I'll be in the car." He said quickly, verging on the edge of impoliteness. Luckily, since his relatives always seemed to want him out of the way, they didn't mind.

Harry sat in the car, doing his level best not to seem impatient. In fact, he looked down, as he thought that might make more of a cowed impression. Meanwhile, his mind was spinning. He'd never been to the zoo, and had read about all sorts of animals. Giraffes, Elephants, maybe a Lion? Deer, muskoxen, gazelles. Maybe even a bear. He didn't think the bears danced at the zoo, though. His mind was busy ranking the animals, prioritizing what he wanted to see. So, almost inevitably, he was completely unprepared when Dudley slammed into him with his full bodyweight.

Harry Potter's head hit the window, and, blinking back stars, he was relieved to see it not broken. That would be just what he needed, to get blamed for something Dudley had done. Again.

The trip to the zoo was surprisingly uneventful. As they stepped from the car, Uncle Vernon collared Harry** and said, "You'll be back here by five, is that clear? We won't wait for you if you're late."

"I'll just have to be early then." Harry Potter said, with a level voice. He had learned early that Uncle Vernon was like a spade, he didn't appreciate fancy language or dancing around issues. He also didn't appreciate tears, crying, or any attempts at sympathy. It was far easier to simply take your lumps from someone like him than anything else.

Harry Potter went into the zoo by himself, having stood in a different line than the others (the quizzical look from the tickettaker was met with "I'm actually fourteen. Just small for my age."). He ran from place to place, getting a good view of most everything, and even managing to be there when they fed the penguins. The fish smelled something awful though.

It was about midday (Harry knew time by the sun, as he didn't own a watch), and Harry stepped into the Reptile House, promising that he'd be back outside (it was rare for him to be outside without needing to watch out for Dudley) in a mo***. There were snakes in there, Harry thought, as he looked around and carefully read the sign saying "do not touch the glass." He walked up to one of the snakes, a large multicolored one, and said, "Are you happy in there? It seems awful small for such a beautiful big creature like you."

"No, but it's not sssssooo bad," the snake responded, "There's a great big 'not in view' part to this cage, so I don't have to ssstay when unruly children bang on the glassss."

Abruptly, Harry Potter was about two feet to the left - only well-practiced reactions kept him on his feet. Dudley, again. Harry thought wryly that he had to stop letting himself be taken so unaware.

Of course, this being Dumb Dudley (a nickname Harry kept quite to himself), he started to bang on the glass.

"Sssssooo long, Speaker." the boa said, starting to slither away.

Harry Potter reached out a hand, saying emphatically, "No! Wait!"

Dudley did something completely impossible. He plunged through the glass, as if it wasn't even there. The snake paused, looking up at Harry, before turning towards him and nodding. "Sssspeaker, you have my thanksss..."

Harry Potter stood frozen, as the snake left the cage, heading for someplace safer and less noisy no doubt. As the tail of the snake left the cage, Harry Potter sprang into motion, running for anyplace else as quickly as he could. He didn't even see the glass reform.

Harry Potter knew he was in trouble, and that Vernon would take it out on him. Probably the belt, and more, with him avoiding punishment like this. Still, Harry had determined from the moment he sprinted away, that he was going to take this one day, and explore.

**not literally. an expression

***moment

[a/n: anyone else would say "have fun", but Harry's quite a bit unused to the concept. Write a review, if you would?]


	5. The misdelivered letter

Harry hadn't thought much of the letter Uncle Vernon had thrown in the fireplace. After all, he was always upset about junk that came in the mail - that wanted to sell him something or another. It did seem unusual that he'd burn it rather than simply throw it out, but the placid satisfaction on his face was enough to tell Harry that it had probably been from someone he disliked.

The next day, there were three trained owls outside on the mailbox. All with the letter, Harry Potter saw, as he strode to collect the mail. Aunt Petunia came rushing out, and grabbed all the mail from Harry before he could even read where the letters were from. "Parcel coming." Aunt Petunia said to herself, as she stepped back inside. Harry noticed his Aunt using the snippers on the letters, which was odd. Were they some sort of credit line? Something that had sensitive information? As far as Harry had seen, she hadn't even opened them.

The next day, a flood of twenty letters came out of the fireplace - there seemed to be a lot of trained owls. And weren't owls supposed to be nighttime beasts? Harry made a mental note to look it up later. He bent over to pick up one of the letters, and Aunt Petunia scowled, saying, "Give me that _rubbish_."

But, the damage was already done. Harry had seen his name on the letter, and if there was one thing that could be said about the lad, he was a curious thing. "Are they all addressed to me, then?" Harry asked, his eyes bright with accusation.

"Yes, but they're just malarkey. I won't have you getting all twisted up over some sort of silly schoolyard prank." Aunt Petunia said.

"Can't I read them, even? Not that I'd _believe_ them, of course, but... I'd like to know what the lads came up with. So I can be prepared, the next I see them. Tell them what a good laugh I had over the jape."

Aunt Petunia said coldly, "I'm throwing them out, and good riddance to rubbish." Harry Potter just glared at her. "Finish up with the roses today, I've got a garden party tommorrow."

As Harry Potter went outside, Aunt Petunia stepped lightly out with him, draping her arm over his shoulders and around his neck from behind. Lightly, as if she was saying nothing at all, she said, "Wake up early tommorrow." Her hand just as quickly released him. Harry Potter knew better than to respond, but if - for once, he finished the roses on time, and had the bacon set up for the morrow, no one would fault him.

The next morning Harry was up before dawn, and grabbed three of the letters, swiftly sliding one of them into the grill under the stairs, to where it was impossible to see. The other two, he carried inside, as he started breakfast. Sadly, but expectedly, Dudley's hunger had him up in the morning - "Mom! Harry's got a letter or two!" He called, his voice carrying.

Aunt Petunia fairly flew down the stairs, her horsefaced visage as long and straight as an arrow - and as deadly. Harry dropped the bacon in the pan, and bolted towards his cupboard, one letter still in his hand. Uncle Vernon was there, and he grabbed Harry up. "What have you got here?" The gruff, tubby man said.

"It's a letter. Addressed to me." Harry said, his voice touching slightly on defiance.

"No need for such things for you. We get you what you need, and it isn't from school." Uncle Vernon threw the letter - and the five that Aunt Petunia carried inside, into the fire. "You can just watch them burn. Pretty, isn't it?" Harry sent his glare at the letters, instead of Uncle Vernon, knowing that it would make him less likely to be punished.

Before dawn the next morning, Harry Potter pulled the letter out from under the stair. "Hogwarts?" He asked himself. "A toad or a cat? What sort of school wants a cauldron anyway?" Teeming with questions, he lay down to contemplate them in his bedroom under the stair.


	6. Silent Treatment

Harry Potter yearned to ask about the letter he had received. To try and persuade his relatives that it really would be better for everyone if he was allowed to leave - for most of the year, anyway. Even if this boarding school was mad, and he'd never learn a single useful thing - he could always wait tables. He knew enough for that, _now_. Or wash dishes, or scrub toilets.

One thing held him back, schooled him to a patience that wasn't normal in a ten year old boy. His relations hated magic - loathed it, any mention of it. His cousin wasn't even allowed superheroes! (GI Joe's were okay, though Uncle Vernon often said they weren't properly British. Which, of course, was the simple truth).

Harry Potter had opened the letter - and damn the consequences! Now, though, he shifted uneasily, foot to foot, as he cooked the pudding that was to be dessert for Sunday's Supper. He couldn't help but hear something strange from upstairs... It almost sounded - like an argument...? Uncle Vernon was often loud and obstinate, and Aunt Petunia could be unbelievably petty, but he'd never heard them say one cross word at each other.

Turning the stove down, Harry Potter - one watchful eye for Dudley- crept up the stairs. Instead of listening outside the closed master bedroom door, he crept towards the loo, and picked up a handful of towels. Standing, he listened intently.

"Do you think-"

"Undoubtedly! - - Not!"

"-Can - do?"

"Holiday! - Summer after all..."

"Where?"

"Hebrides - - sister's - - - - cabin."

What a pleasant place for a vacation, was harry potter's first thought at the shack (calling it a cabin would have been exceedingly optimistic) on the small scrap of windswept rock. Granted, Harry Potter wasn't in the best of moods - the car trip alone had him half smothered under Dudley's weight - and that had been his cousin's intent. Apparently Harry wasn't going to do anything odd if he was smothered half to death.

Harry had almost liked the short trip in the rowboat in comparison - he hadn't even had to row, once Uncle Vernon discovered that Dudley had a bit of a talent for it. And the whole time had been taken up with Uncle Vernon's dreams of Dudley on the rowing team at Smelting. Harry rather hoped that Dudley would be. He could stand to lose some weight, and if he exercised, maybe they wouldn't all have to diet.

Harry hadn't really realized it was his birthday - nor would he really have cared. He celebrated his birthday the day after Dudley, with a bit of extra food that he managed to scrimp, and a few broken toys from the year before that he was fairly certain Dudley wouldn't miss.

And so no one was more surprised than Harry Potter when one Rubeus Hagrid came to knock at the door.

[a/n: skipping the scene where they meet? It was boring anyway. Scene in the Leaky is much more fun!

Write a review, and if you want me to leave it in I will!]


	7. Hagrid

*Boom* went the door, and Vernon and Petunia scrambled to their feet. Dudley seemed more like to roll over and ignore the thunder. Nearly silent, Harry Potter had sat up, in the corner of the room, and was peering at the source of the noise.

*BOOOM!* went the door, and Vernon scrambled to grab his gun. Harry was fairly certain doors weren't meant to do that, and that if they were, that there had to be a battering ram on the other side. The island wasn't big enough for a battering ram, let alone space to run, anyway.

*BOOOOOMMMMM!* went the door, making a loud echoey wooden sound as it fell to the ground. Uncle Vernon had his shotgun up, trained on the door. Harry was mildly comforted by that fact, although he knew that the awful strangeness was - with his luck - heavily armored.

Lightning cracked outside - for real this time - and a massive figure was outlined in the door. They said some men were built like walls - this one spanned the door, leaving just enough room for his head and legs to be outlined. Turning sideways, he stepped in (or rather onto) the door.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" Hagrid grinned.

"Who are you, and why are you here?" Uncle Vernon spat, his face starting to pink. Harry wasn't worried about that 0- it was only bad if his face turned beet red. This was just small anger. He could, and did regularly, deal with that.

"Rubeus Hagrid, that's ma name. Ya seem ta have ha' a problem with the post - we haven't got your letter back."

Uncle Vernon, looking like he didn't want to do it, stopped pointing the gun at Hagrid. It was one thing to shoot an intruder outside your door - it was another to shoot someone actively intruding. He consoled himself with the thought of forcibly pushing the man out the door, if necessary. At least he didn't look to be a thief, no matter how unruly a vagabond he was. (And really, what had he been expecting, in the middle of the night, on an island at sea?)

Aunt Petunia came forward, her face pale and tight, and asked quietly, "What letter were you expecting?"

"Harry's acceptance letter, of course!" Hagrid said with a grin, turning to the boy, "Harry, we need ta get ya your books, and your own, and a wand."

Aunt Petunia nearly shrieked, "He'll be doing none of that! You gave him to us, and we won't have him turn crazy."

Harry Potter slowly stood, looking quietly and carefully between the two.

" 'is parents woulda wanted him ta come." Hagrid said, somewhat dumbfounded.

"Well, we don't. He's doing well enough here."

"Is it money that's botherin ya?" Hagrid asked, seemin' ashamed to have to bring it up. "That's been taken care of."

"We won't have to pay a thing?" Uncle Vernon asked skeptically.

"No! I don't want him around you people! Crazy, round the bend, the lot of you!"

Harry Potter walked over to his Aunt, softly, "I don't like to be a burden, Aunt Petunia."

"Can I just have the money? Is that allowed? Do I get a stipend?" Harry asked, briefly doubting whether the large oaf would actually know what he was asking.

"Why'd ya wanna do that, Harry? Yer ta go to school, and learn magic and all sorts of great things!" Hagrid said.

"But what if I don't like it there?" Harry asked, knowing that he had hated being in class with Duds.

"Ya will, ya will." Hagrid said with excessive amounts of cheer. "But, I suppose, if ya don't like it - ya could take the money, it's yours after all."

"Get out of here, I won't have you poisoning his mind with this tomfoolery!" Aunt Petunia shrieked.

Harry Potter looked at her like an eight year old might. "I won't listen, you know. It sounds like I do have some business to take care of, and no matter how strange they are, I think money's still money."

"Right ya are, young lad!"

"How long will it take? To obtain my money, and consider the matter of schooling?" Harry Potter asked.

"We can have your books and money and everything in one day at Diagon Alley." Hagrid said with a grin.

"Where's that?"

"London."

"You'll take me back to my relatives afterwards?"

"Of course."

"very well then." Harry said, walking out the door with Hagrid. "Can you do something about the door?"

"Sorry!" Hagrid said, and he nearly blushed, standing the door up by his own hands, and then pointing a pink umbrella at it and saying something that in the rain Harry didn't clearly catch - didn't sound like English either.

Inside, well disguised by the rain, Uncle Vernon held his wife in his arms as she wept. His eyes were cold as murder, and he wished that he'd never heard of the word magic.

[a/n: Petunia is a little more protective of Harry here. Still neglectful and demanding, but really doesn't want him to go Wizarding.

Harry's not nearly as "take charge" here as in the books...

Like it, hate it? leave a review!]


	8. Hop aboard

Hagrid walked with Harry to his motorbike, a giant hand on Harry's back, gently guiding him to their destination without having to say a word. * He swung a leg over it, and revved the motor, before looking at Harry Potter. "Well, what are ye waitin for? Hop on behind me!"

Harry Potter stood still as a statue, looking at the huge man on the motorbike. It certainly didn't look safe. And how he had gotten here on a motorbike... and without a boat. At least the dock only had the Dursley's boat attached... Perhaps his was on the other side of the island. "Sir, that doesn't look quite safe." he said doubtfully.

"Hasn't failed me yet! In fact, I took ye on a ride when you were just a bairn!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, it was right after your parents..." Hagrid looked sad. "Well, never mind that now. Explanations can hold for later, you must be sleepy. Hop aboard."

Harry Potter closed his eyes, gulped, and then sat himself on the motorbike.

"Hold on tight now!" Hagrid cried, and he pushed on the gas. For the first twenty seconds, Harry was completely occupied with making sure that he had a good hold on Hagrid, and not on a woolen dreadlock that was likely to come off if he tugged on it twice. It took him a few moments before he could look down - the wind being what it was, and Hagrid's bulk making certain that he couldn't see straight ahead. All Harry Potter saw below him was water, He felt his heart squeeze, hard, to the point of pain. Opening his eyes again, he realized that they hadn't crashed into the waves yet. "We're- flying?" He asked.

"Whazzat?" Hagrid responded, turning his head (which had the rather misfortunate side effect of banking them upwards and to the right), "Yes, this is a magic motorbike." Hagrid turned towards the front again, and the motorbike was rather reluctantly wrestled into flying straight again. Harry Potter's heart squeezed hard again, and he resolved then and there not to talk to the driver on this mad contraption. To Harry Potter, this was the first magic, the first real magic, that he'd ever seen. _There were schools that taught you how to make flying motorbikes?_

* * *

They got off the bike in an alley (Harry Potter had nearly felt the shingles as they slid into the narrow bricklined crevasse. "Stay behind me, now." Hagrid said, "and look down at the floor, and do just what I tell ya." Hagrid muttered to himself, "Save the crowds for the morning." Hagrid walked into the inn, "The Leaky Cauldron" (Harry certainly hoped the rooms didn't leak), and asked the innkeep about a room for the night.

"Yeah, we've got a room, what's it to ya?"

"I've money ta pay, and that's the truth. Dumbledore's business, if you haven't guessed."

"Well, now, I guess that's different, you old drunken fool. Git upstairs, and take - who is that, anyway? Can't possibly be yours!" She said with a laugh.**

"Never you mind that. Thanks for the room."

As Harry and Hagrid climbed the stairs, she shouted out, "Anytime! Provided you've got sickles that is!"

Harry Potter was relieved to see that their room did have two beds, because he hadn't quite fancied the idea of lying in a bed with the "built like a wall" man. He might get squished in his sleep. He resolved to thank Hagrid for the extra expense, getting a married couple's bed had to cost more than a single. On second thought, they both might not have fit in a single.

* * *

The next morning Harry Potter woke, made the bed, and was fixing a tear in Hagrid's laces when Hagrid got up. "Boy, you're up early. Couldn't sleep?"

Harry Potter shook his head, not rising from what he was doing, and his stomach gave a loud growl.

"I oughtta send down for something to eat, lemme get my pouch." Hagrid said, fumbling at his waistline pocket (which he wasn't wearing yet, of course).

"I'll get it!" Harry Potter said with a grin, happy to have something to do. Hagrid raised an arm, and got out, "Now Harry" before the door was open and Harry was running down the hall. His head turned back, he called, "I'll have them put it on your tab!"

Harry rushed into the public house part of the inn, where there was a noisy crowd of people. He was soon lost beneath the heads and shoulders of the preoccupied drinkers and noshers, popping out only when his direction sense had led him to the bar.

"I'd like two of your best meals, and you can charge it to Hagrid." Harry Potter said, effecting a confidence he surely didn't feel. Still, if the man was paying for extra room, he probably wouldn't notice paying for a bit of extra food. And if Hagrid, by some miracle, didn't eat all of his, Harry could certainly find room in his aching belly.

"You..." Tom said, still polishing a glass as he peered down at Harry, "Harry Potter." he said louder, drawing looks from people around them.

Harry Potter didn't much care for the staring, and so said, "Fraid not, that's my cousin. Dudley Dursley at your service." He'd deal with the fallout later.

"But... your scar..." Tom said, pointing at Harry's head.

"Oh, that's just magic marker. I put it in yesterday for a laugh, and now it won't come off. I guess that's why they call it magic. Harry'll be by tommorrow if you're looking for him - my parents were concerned he had gotten sick and had him stay home to sleep it off." At least, that's what Harry wanted his aunt to do, though it never really happened.

"We'll send the meals up, and nothing but the best in service and speed." Tom said with a smile. Harry was relieved to note most of the people turning away from him at his words.

Harry moved through the crowd like a fish through water, his mind on one objective. **_Why the bleedin' hell do people I've never met know my name?_** Harry needed answers, and he swore he'd get them out of Hagrid, one way or another.

*animal trainer. nonverbal communication is instinctive, by this point

**Tom's not always up. this is the nighttime innkeep.

[a/n: leave a review! Harry said that he didn't like staring, and if he could go even one day without it, he'd lie to do it.]


	9. Answers or Die Trying

Harry dashed up the stairs like the hounds of hell themselves were after him - far faster than he'd ever managed with Dudley on his tail.

"Hagrid - what's going on?" Harry panted, shutting the door.

"Why - whatdaya mean, Harry?" the large man asked kindly.

"Why does the innkeep recognize me? Why does he know my name? I've never seen him before in my life!" Harry Potter had had quite a number of interesting thoughts on the matter - but none of them would actually explain the situation to his satisfaction.

"Why, Harry - you're famous!" Hagrid said with a great big smile that Harry Potter immediately wanted to punch. Not that punching a lunk that big would actually do any good.

Instead, Harry deadpanned, "Famous." And then he looked at Hagrid with full on fury in his eyes, "Famous for **_what_**?" His hands were fists at his sides, and he was seriously giving consideration to seeing if there was possibly someone else who could get him out of here. Wherever here was. _Famous_.

"When you were just a little tyke, this mean old wizard went after you and your parents, like he'd gone after quite a few others. Well, he killed your parents, sure enough - but somehow, someway, you managed to survive. An' he didn't!" Hagrid grinned, and Harry viciously suppressed the urge to punch the large man. It didn't seem to be his fault, after all, that he was just so slow at explaining.

"And... everyone knows about this?" Harry Potter asked, his hands shaking.

"Yeah, why you're the Boy Who Lived! Everyone knows your name, Harry. And you can't be missed, looking like the spitting image of James Potter himself!" Hagrid said.

"Hagrid." Harry Potter said gravely, "This is very important. Today, I need you to call me Dudley."

"But... why would you want to be named after your cousin?" Hagrid asked, clearly this was too much of a puzzle for him. "You've already got a name, and you outta be proud of it!"

"I don't want it. Not people staring. Not now. Not when I've only _just_ got here." Harry Potter said, his voice echoing with both vehemence and a childlike innocence that Hagrid didn't know enough to understand was utterly foreign to the blackhaired boy. Harry was merely mimicking a bit of Dudley - something so he didn't seem so... adult. So... confident.

"Well, all right," Hagrid said with an easy grin, "But this won't work at school, mind. You'll be Harry Potter there, and no way around it."

Harry counted this as a severe point against the school, but wasn't about to say that to Hagrid. "Fair enough. Even if only for a day, I can just be."

The food arrived shortly, as Hagrid was busy opining on the teaching schedules given to students - he was rather of the opinion that like Potions, Care of Magic Creatures ought to have a double period. "What's Potions?" Harry asked, curious about what exactly the large man was on about.

"Potions is how to store magic, how to make elixirs that can save a life, or end it. It's got a fairly strict teacher, so mind you listen to what he says." Hagrid said firmly.

As the door swung shut, Hagrid turned to Harry and said, "Now that I can see you in good light, you really are the spittin' image of your da. I haven't seen you since you were a wee bairn, you've certainly grown up!"

"You... you've met my aunt and uncle before?" Harry Potter asked, willing back the instant question on why he had been left with his cold relatives. They weren't precisely cruel (well, Dudley was, but Dudley was a child, and thus deserved a few... allowances. Besides, he might grow out of it - perhaps quicker if Harry could score some caltrops for training purposes you understand), but they were neglectful, which was fairly different from negligence. They knew how to care for a child, they just didn't think Harry was anything more than a servant.

"Almost. Dumbledore sent me to give you to them, but when I knocked on their door, they didn't answer." Hagrid said.

"So, what did you do?"

"I left you there - had ta get back, there was lots to be done. But don't fear, I left you with a strong warmin' charm and a solid, good note." Hagrid smiled, and said, "Dumbledore said that I'd done well to get there and back in one piece."

"Who's - who's Dumbledore?"

"Only the greatest wizard you'll ever meet! He's the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and a great man. Good ta me too, took me in even though I don't have even a public degree. You should always listen and do as he tells you, as he has only your interests in mind. He's the Head Mugwump, too, and a bunch of other titles. I'd do anything for Dumbledore!" Hagrid said, as Harry mentally filed away fifteen new things to research.

Harry schooled his face, and resolved to stop asking so many questions. It was clear who Hagrid was: an Honest Liar. And, in many ways, those were the worst kind. They'd lie to you and not even know it - such a credulous fool. Anything that Hagrid said was not to be trusted. And, that went double for Dumbledore. Why had Dumbledore sent such a person to fetch his books? He didn't seem the smartest knife in the shed... nor one used to telling people like Harry's relatives about magic.

Harry dearly hoped that Aunt Petunia wouldn't hold Hagrid's incompetence against him. It wasn't Harry's fault they sent the stupid lunk.

[a/n: Harry's having a bit of fun trying to understand _anything_ out of Hagrid. Unlike in the books, this Harry isn't nearly as trusting. Leave a review!]


	10. Diagon Alley

Harry ate with a will, when Hagrid set his food down, telling himself that he should show good manners and refrain from stuffing a bit of bread in his pocket. For good luck, you know?

They finished their morning rituals, Harry brushing his teeth and Hagrid smoothing down his hair (Harry had gotten to the point where he knew not to bother. His hair was always unkempt - so Aunt Petunia always said. He settled for scrubbing his face till it was slightly red instead).

As they came down the stairs, Hagrid stalked over to settle his bill with Tom. As everyone looked at the big giant, a lean man stuttered over to Harry. "P-p-professor Quirrel. Starting Hogwarts this year, are we?"

"I'm supposed to, I think, yes."

"I will be teaching you then. I am very excited about the new position, you understand."

"The new position?"

"Yes, the Defense against the Dark Arts post." Quirrel said in his halting manner, thankfully suppressing the stutter.

"I'll look forward to your class, then," Harry said courteously.

"Oh! Yes of course," Quirrel said, "I need to be finding a new book on Vampires. Such fascinating things..."

Hagrid came over, and said heartily "Quirrel! I missed ya there! I'm to take this young un to get his things for the new school year."

"I'll...I'll leave you to it then."

* * *

Harry Potter had never seen a bank so imposing, he thought looking up at the imposing building. It looked like a temple to a Greek God. Mammon, perhaps? Harry frowned as he read the inscription above the door, and heard his suspicions confirmed when Hagrid muttered, "Ye'd have ta be mad ter rob Gringott's" - which was presumably the name of the bank, although nobody had bothered to tell him so.

Walking in the door, Harry had to fight to look normal, natural. Like he often saw green scaly (small) monsters with pointy teeth. Yes. Harry Potter's need to find a book, or two, or several hundred was multiplying with every step. Not just a world with wands that did magic. Creatures the likes of which he'd never even dreamed existed (though perhaps others had, he figured that had to be what Magic Shows were like on the tellie).

"Griphook! Take these two to vaults 223 and 713!" a goblin called, and another goblin walked over to them, gesturing for them to follow him. Harry wondered what he'd missed while he's been busy thinking (and gaping, even if he'd had the sense to keep his mouth shut).

Harry and Hagrid got aboard a small coalcart (though Harry doubted the bank actually used coal), and the goblin hopped behind. Hagrid had only time to say, "Hang on!" before they went on the ride of Harry's life, flying through the caverns - Harry's delighted scream echoing their descent.

Harry stood before the Potter vault, and pushed his hand against it as instructed. It opened with a creak, and Harry let out a breath he had been holding without knowing it. What if he wasn't a Potter at all? That was possible, wasn't it? He'd never really met his parents, and Hagrid seemed the type to be mistaken a lot. Maybe he was simply mislabeled?

As the door opened, Harry's mouth dropped in disbelief. There was as much gold there as a full mini computer! It was unbelievable! "This... this belongs to me?" Harry asked in an uncharacteristically shaky voice.

"Yea, Harry, it's your inheritance."

"How much can I take?" Harry demanded, his resolute voice echoing through the tunnel outside.

"Now, Harry..." Hagrid started, before Griphook arrived, bowing, "You may take it all, Master Potter. But I'd advise against it."

Looking straight at Griphook, Harry responded, "Why's that?"

"We're better at catching thieves than wizards are, as a general rule. And if you choose to keep your money here, you will earn interest." Griphook said, his eyes narrowing as his first sentence had little impact.

"How much interest?" Harry shot back.

"3%" the goblin said.

"Pass. Can you deliver this to HSBC, under my name?" Harry wasn't quite sure this would work, but he figured that the worst of it would be he'd be without money he'd never known he had.

"8%!" the goblin responded, his eyes bulging out.

Harry nodded, satisfied. "A full percentage higher than muggle rates. Very well, for now, I'll keep most of my money here. How much gold will convert to a pound?"

Griphook responded, a shade quicker than Hagrid, "One galleon to a pound's the general conversion. But I'll give you one galleon to a pound and two pence, mmm...?"

Harry smiled, glad for once that he'd listened to Uncle Vernon talk about interest rates. The rest of the trip to the bank passed uneventfully, with Hagrid making a withdrawal from a suspiciously empty vault - but as the goblin didn't seem concerned, Harry decided not to worry about it. Much.

[a/n: Harry's a good listener. And Uncle Vernon _loves_ to talk business. Leave a review!]


	11. Ollivanders

"Alright, Harry, we're going to get you a wand." Hagrid said, and Harry frowned.

"Do I need a wand to do magic?" Harry asked, and Hagrid smiled in return.

" Yer just a small tyke, and that's the truth. A wand's a great thing, and we teach all kids how to use one. Great Wizards, like Dumbledore, can do magic without one, but it's harder and they can do less. Treat yer wand with care, and don't let anything happen to it." Hagrid said in his powerful voice. Harry hoped that no one would notice them. "An here we are, Ollivanders, my boy. Jest step right in!" Hagrid motioned, and Harry stepped into the weird shoppe that resembled an old time dry goods store. A counter, and boxes upon boxes behind it. Looking straight out of one of those westerns that Dudley used to watch.

A weird man with white hair and bright blue, bulging eyes was behind the counter, weighing something unseen when Harry stepped through the door. He looked up at Harry's approach, and asked, "May I help you?"

"'e's here to get his first wand, Ollie." Hagrid said, and Harry had to wonder exactly how many people dared call such a powerful person "ollie". It was possible Hagrid was the only one.

"Where's your wand?" Harry Potter asked Hagrid politely.

Hagrid made a show of checking that the door was closed, and said quietly and soberly, "I was kicked out of Hogwarts. They... they broke my wand." Harry stilled, his eyes going wide, as he remembered the magic that Hagrid had done at the isle.

"The wand chooses the wizard." Ollivander said, as if the awkward conversation had never happened. What's your wand arm?"

"I'm... right handed? " Harry said, the question in his voice enough to make Ollivander nod firmly.

"Muggleborn too, I suppose."

"Dudley Dursley, pleasure to meet you." Harry said firmly, his hand stretched out for a handshake, that Ollivander greeted with a firm grip of his own.

"Are you now..." Ollivander said with cold eyes that seemed like they might stare through Harry's very soul. Harry eventually decided that he liked this man rather better than the affable stupidity that was Hagrid. "No matter, no matter. Although, boy, you might want to purchase a hat. That scar's rather distinctive you know."

"Magic Marker. I put it on, and it won't wash off for another couple days."

"Still, do you really want to be mistaken for Potter?"

Harry sighed, and said, "I suppose not. I just don't like hats - they make it hard to hear."

Ollivander laid box after box in front of Harry, looking at him with a strange look that got stranger as he went. "This isn't working." he said crossly, after what seemed the fiftieth box.

"If I don't find a wand, what happens then? Will I stay home, then, and not go to a Magic school?" Harry asked quietly, thinking how this would make it easier for everyone. He flushed slightly, thinking about how naughty it felt to use the word magic.

Hagrid interrupted his musings with a forced laugh, "Don't be silly! No wizard's ever not been able to find a wand!"

The next wand exploded when Harry touched it, and he snarled, "So much for that one."

Ollivander looked at him impassively, and said, "I'll need to put that core into a new shell, I suppose."

With a longsuffering sigh, Ollivander draws out seven types of wood, ranging from Rowan to Holly to exotic Ironwood. "Here, we'll try it this way. It's unreliable, and most people find their wands quicker the other, but you seem a strange sort."

"What should I do?" Harry asked.

"Close your eyes, and run your hand over each of the woods. Tell me exactly what you think they're like."

Harry's hand rested first on the yew, "tricksy, smart, intelligent, disloyal."

Harry's hand rested next on the holly, "wow, this is bright, and quick, and happy."

"That'll be enough, young man." Ollivander said with a smile. "I think I know just the thing."

He brought out three boxes and Harry suppressed a sigh, as he had really long since lost interest.

On the third box, the Holly wand sent out blue and green sparks that flew around the room like fish in a school.

"That's the one, Harry!" Hagrid said.

"If you can leave us, for a moment, sir?" Ollivander asked quietly.

"O' course I can!" Hagrid said, before exiting the store.

"That wand looks the twin of another I sold, ages ago. If I'm not mistaken, it's the one that gave you that scar." Ollivander said firmly, looking for the moment of comprehension in Harry's eyes, and then swiftly turned away. "25 galleons, and that's a bargain."

Harry paid without saying a word, and left the store lost in thought. Absently, he purchased a seaman's cap before allowing Hagrid to take him to his next destination.

[a/n: leave a review! Ollivander isn't as daft as he looks.]


	12. Madame Malkin

Hagrid pushed Harry (nee Dudley) towards the robes shop (it looked like any clothes shop, Harry supposed, not having actually seen the inside of one himself, except that it had long flowy dress-like things instead of proper trousers and shirts). "Go in and get yourself fitted, I'll be back in just a flick of a lamb's tail."

Harry Potter was rather startled at this, turning back towards Hagrid (who had just given him a hard shove), and opening his mouth. Unfortunately, he found himself surrounded by a myriad number of things to say, anything from "how much do robes cost?" to "don't go, you'll get lost, and then where will I be?" Harry found the latter thought concerning, and then he had to ask himself just why he was so concerned.

Tucking his forehead under his cap (his hair was being unruly, as it often was) He walked steadily into the shop, trying to do his best to look like he belonged. A long stride, a straight back, and a firm gaze. Believe it yourself, and others will mark your confidence.

Inside, he saw another lad (with hair a pure white-was that real? Harry wanted to ask, but questions never got him anywhere, so he held back), about his age, up on a stool. The measuring tape danced around him, somehow taking the measure without hand (and without stripping the child bare). It was remarkable.

Stepping up on the stool, Harry stood there a moment, realizing that no one was stepping over to deal with him. He loudly cleared his throat, and an older woman (Madame Malkin) came over, saying, "Goodness! I didn't notice you. You're a quiet one aren't you? We'll have you set in just a few..." Harry found himsef wondering if the Wizarding world had minutes, or if they only thought in bells.

The blond lad began to speak, and Harry found himself confounded. Up until this very minute, he'd never have thought that a drawl could be this hard to understand - oh, sure, if someone spoke fast as a New Yorker, it might be troublesome... but this drawl? Hesitantly, he picked out a few words to learn later, and he tried to piece together what was being talked about. Quiddich, Slytherin, Hogwarts - he knew that one! Hagrid, yes, but setting his home on fire? "Is your father the type to lie?" Harry asked, not expecting a reasonable answer out of an eleven year old.

"Yeah, when it suits him." Draco Malfoy responded in that slow and easy drawl.

"Then I don't doubt that he's been lying about Hagrid. Surely he wouldn't be incapable of learning how to not burn his house down. If nothing else, drinking outside." Harry Potter rather doubted that Hagrid was that stupid, though it might be true. Still, for the other boy's sake, he didn't want him saying anything nasty in the tall man's hearing. Gentle he may be, but even the gentlest can be violent when roused.

"You think?" Draco drawled, thinking about the other boy.

"Yeah. So, don't just ask him when he comes in."

"Wait? Why-?" Draco Malfoy drawled, as the door suddenly opened, Hagrid stomping in.

"All done!" Madame Malkin said with a smile. "Have your packages picked up by eight."

"Later," Harry called back to Draco Malfoy - his eyes looking friendly, though without much of a smile.

As Hagrid and Harry left the store, Draco could hear the blackhaired boy being offered an owl by Hagrid. _The boy couldn't... couldn't possibly be Hagrid's son, could he? That was ridiculous..._

After the door had closed, Hagrid pulled Harry off into an alcove, saying to him, "You gotta be careful who you meet around here, Harry..."

Harry Potter eyed Hagrid up and down, looking at how - actually nervous - he looked. "You mean that boy in the clothes shop?"

"Yeah, he's a Malfoy. They're none of them up to any good, not ever. Not the type you want to cross either, but definitely not the type to befriend."

"And why's that, Hagrid?"

"Well, erm, he'll be in Slytherin - that's one of the houses of Hogwarts - his entire family has been, for generations!"

"And... what's so bad about that?"

"No good wizard's ever come out of Slytherin, they're well known for being sneaky, liars, and cunning to boot." Hagrid said. Harry frowned, realizing that it had sounded like a good summation of his own personality. Was Hagrid saying-? Not that Harry cared what Hagrid thought... but Harry suddenly remembered everyone at primary believing Dudley's lies. People were credulous, and ... if being in Slytherin was going to be a problem.

Harry Potter was _going_ to find a solution. Because he didn't want to be the person everyone stared at, the person everyone hated. Not anymore.

"What are the other houses, Hagrid?"

"Gryffindor - the House of the Brave - my house if you hadn't noticed (Dumbledore's too). Hufflepuff - the House of Hard Work and Friendship, and Ravenclaw - the house of the Intelligent." Hagrid said, and Harry fought a curse that Hagrid probably wouldn't even recognize. Someone else might, though, even as concealed as they were back here. Spending seven years in one house? It didn't sound like the houses got along so well. if Hagrid had gotten his job through Dumbledore's intervention...

Thinking quickly, Harry Potter couldn't really see himself in Ravenclaw, though he might be able to pass, the big for their britches kids had never been nice to him. And Hufflepuff? Harry knew he couldn't go there - he just couldn't. He hadn't a friend to his name (the affable giant did not count) so how could he possibly fit in there.

Harry Potter was going to get into Gryffindor, if it killed him.

If he decided to go to Hogwarts, at all. There were always options, and, despite all the fancy whizbangs around here, he hadn't seen much that would really reward him for going here rather than somewhere else.

He would keep his head down, get as many books as possible, and talk with his Aunt and Uncle before he did a single solitary thing. Even if his uncle had a biased perspective, it was at least important to know - and besides, his Uncle would be flattered to be asked for guidance.

[a/n: Is Harry going to decide not to go to Hogwarts? Leave a review.]


	13. Perfectly ridiculous

Harry Potter blinked and blinked again. "Happy birthday," Hagrid had said. And Harry Potter, the poor orphan boy, found himself presented with an owl. As a pet - and a familiar (great, yet more terms that he didn't know what to do with). Harry had known that Hagrid was a bit of a dull knife, but this was getting ridiculous. How in the world was he supposed to keep an owl at the Dursleys? Harry found himself wondering if he could just set the bird free, or something. After all, if it was clever enough to come back - well, maybe he'd love it then, as the old saying went. If you love something, set it free...

Harry went through the rest of the shopping without incident, although his stop in the bookstore became more lengthy than Hagrid had expected, and resulted in enough books that even Hagrid had trouble lifting them all. Well and good, Harry thought, if I can't have a trustworthy narrator, I'll take them all. Maybe between all of them he'd come up with a decent reconstruction of what in the blue blazes was going on with the Wizarding World. Mostly histories, some fiction, a few primers on the world itself (meant for muggleborns), and of course the first year textbooks. Harry was already plotting how to wrangle more advanced textbooks out of older students (plans were decent fun even if he decided not to go), but he figured he'd have his hands full trying to fit a full year's worth of study into one month.

Hagrid walked Harry to his door, setting him down outside as Harry hurriedly shooed the imposing figure away. He didn't need his Aunt or Uncle taking offense to yet more strangeness. Taking a deep breath and schooling his face to impassivity, Harry picked up the side of his chest and knocked on the door. Aunt Petunia answered, for once smiling at him. "Well, what are you doing out there? You can fix lunch while I watch the tellie." Harry didn't speak, but looked significantly at the chest beside him.

"Oh, your trunk?" Aunt Petunia said, calling out to her son, "Dudley!" He came down the stairs with a gallumphing gait, vibrating the bannister like an earthshake.

"Yes, Mum?" He said, paling visibly when he looked at Harry, before grinning maniacally, "Oh! Harry's back!" in a tone that Harry could just tell that he'd be in for it, once Aunt Petunia wasn't looking.

"Prove to me how big and strong you are - move this to the Cupboard under the stairs. It should just fit." Aunt Petunia said, and for once, Dudley didn't complain. He flexed his arms - eyes glittering meanly at Harry, and lifted the trunk (he really was quite strong).

Harry quickly moved inside, starting a bit of oil in the pan for lunch, before rifling through the fridge, looking for - there! some chipped beef! Shit on a Shingle it was today. Harry always quite liked the dish, and not simply because of the name. Harry was bending down to start the oven, when Aunt Petunia (who had quietly stepped into the kitchen) said his name, softly with a little lilt, "Harry." Harry had straightened at this, bumping his head into the exhaust fan (luckily he wasn't bleeding - this time). He turned to Aunt Petunia, his manner indicating interested, respectful silence. "I suspect you have some questions."

Harry shook his head, quickly, saying, "Not yet."

Aunt Petunia tilted her head sideways, for a long moment, before nodding, "When you do..." And that was the most profound conversation Harry Potter had ever had with his Aunt.

[a/n: Write a review! Do you want me to get rid of his owl? Should he set it free? (right now it's in his trunk, and hooting rather balefully)]


	14. Stirring the Pot

First thing in the morning, Harry was out the door with his owl cage, loosing the damned thing and watching it take flight into the burgeoning false dawn. His feet were damp from the dew, but he didn't really care. The bloody thing was beautiful, on the wing, he'd give it that. But it could stay in the Wizarding World, where it belonged. Even if it wanted to... whatever a familiar did, it could do it without being a bloody spectacle. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were mad at him enough for making spectacles, he didn't need a pet adding to his oddity.

Harry Potter had spent the weekend reading, devouring history books as quickly as anything he'd ever read, and at least skimming his textbooks. All in all, the Wizarding World was starting to take shape in front of him. It was a staid world, still full of vice as any, but one in which the vice was scowled upon. It was a world of prejudice, and of bigotry. And a world where people waved wands, and had unicorns, and could fix a broken bone with a potion.

Harry wasn't sure what to think, by the end, but he found himself quite glad that Uncle Vernon had a coincidental business trip that had absorbed his weekend. "Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked, coming up behind her while she was watching the tellie.

"Time to talk, is it?" She said bruskly, "Up to your room then, and be quick about it. You'll have questions, I suspect."

Harry got to the room after her, and he carefully closed the door, sensing without words that she didn't want Dudley to hear what she had to say. "Why'd you say that my parents were killed in a drunken car accident? You knew it wasn't the truth, I saw." Harry's eyes glittered greenly, like a grass snake hissing at her.

"What, I was going to tell you something daft like the truth? Be reasonable. I needed to tell you something that you could tell the teachers at school, without getting you locked away." Aunt Petunia scoffed, "Besides, what better way to get a six year old hurt than to tell him his parents died heroes in a war? You think I've never seen boys playing at war?! Every one of them thinks they're invincible." Harry had to silently agree with that, he'd seen Dudley at play.

"You don't think I should accept, do you?" Harry said directly.

"Frankly, I think it's your choice. A dangerous choice if you choose it, but yours to make." Aunt Petunia paused, for a moment, and then ventured, "But that big bloke didn't look like the type to take no for an answer. You certainly didn't get what your Mum got, which was someone politely telling us about the wonderful world you could train in."

Harry Potter thought about that, his green eyes growing cloudy, "You think something's up. Something's not right about this."

"Too true, lad, too true." Aunt Petunia said with a grin, "I tell you what - take advantage of being a child."

"I'm not a child." Harry Potter said firmly.

"Well, we raised you right, that's for sure. Ready to do what needs doing, at any rate." Aunt Petunia said.

"Is that what you call raising someone right?" Harry Potter sputtered.

"I do. Dudley will have ten years to grow up. Take the dangerous choice now, child, and you may need to be ready now."

"What would you do?" Harry asked curiously.

"I'm always one to look before I leap. Send back the letter, declining. Sure as rain, they'll come here and explain why they need you so badly. Why you're special." Aunt Petunia said with a grim smile.

"And if they don't come?" Harry asked quietly, not quite able to hide his longing, his fear.

"Well, then I'll write to them myself. Tell them that I got you to change your mind, and that, at any rate, if they don't take you in - you'll be out on the street those ten months!" Aunt Petunia's madcap grin stretched her face ghoulishly. "Don't think I won't make good on that threat, neither."

"Oh, that reminds me. I've got back-rent to pay." Harry Potter said, opening his chest and pulling out a small bag of gold. "Here."

The look on Aunt Petunia's face was priceless. Harry felt compelled to add, "Apparently I'm quite rich. Who knew?"

"Harry, you've paid your rent the hard way, there was no such need for this."

"Really? Good. Because I'm done doing it the hard way. If this works out, I'll have lessons to do instead." Harry Potter opened the door to his room, gently ushering his aunt out, who was openly shaking her head.

[a/n: Aunt Petunia rather likes her nephew. Not to say that made her any less hard on him, but still.

My thanks to the anonymous reader who remembered that I'd not actually written the owl out of the trunk.

Write me a review!]


	15. Consternation

Albus Dumbledore's hands shook as he read the letter Minerva McGonagall had opened. "Albus..." she whispered, "How can he _not want to come_?"

This comment was apparently too much for Severus Snape, who had leaned towards Albus in order to read over his shoulder. Even Severus' eyes widened at the sheer arrogance of the miserable whelp that bore the thrice-cursed (by Severus, himself, if no one else) name Potter. "Just as arrogant as his father, I see... convinced that he doesn't need to learn control." Snape said snidely.

Albus had to force himself not to bury his head in the letter, as Minerva spoke sharply to him, "What are you going to do about this!? It's unacceptable, and you know it!" Her fear had made her voice into that of a harpy's, and the shrillness grated on Dumbledore's nerves. Truth be told, Dumbledore was not looking forward to this conversation. If it were anyone else, he'd have taken Snape along - but that was asking for more than trouble if he took Snape to see Harry Potter. There was enough bad blood between James and Severus that Albus had often wondered what Snape would respond to more - Lily or James? In a vacuum, it would have been a fascinating experiment. However, with this... response... to the invitation to attend Hogwarts, Albus was certain that the boy had entirely bollixed up the experiment. Ah, well. So long as Harry Potter was in the next Hogwarts class, all was not truly lost.*

Albus let out a great sigh, and said, "It appears that I must talk with Harry Potter myself. He will see reason, surely..."

Snape's eyes gleamed malevolently, as he asked (with the trace of a gloat), "And if he doesn't?"

"Oh, he will. One way or the other." Albus Dumbledore said, "I bid thee adieu."

This left Minerva and Severus staring at each other, as they mouthed (as was their custom) "Did he just...?" For Albus had indeed left them both in full Wizarding Regalia (and clashing green and purple to boot), to talk with Harry's relations.

*Albus has hopes for a reconciliation. Albus is a giant pygmypuff softie sometimes.

[a/n: Yes, Snape is a git. Yes, he's predisposed to not like Potter. Ce la vie. Minerva, truth be told, is also predisposed to not like the sort of lad that would refuse to come to school and be taught.]


	16. A Most Unexpected Visitor

Albus Dumbledore walked down the sidewalk towards Number Four Privett Drive. He had not realized it was nicknamed TickyTaffy, by one Harry Potter, but wouldn't have gotten the allusion even if he had known. He was presently feeling quite cross, just a bit out of sorts with the need to convince Harry Potter that the magical world was one worth entering. It was difficult, truth be told, for Albus to understand why anyone wouldn't want to learn about magic.

Albus knocked on the door, and Uncle Vernon answered. "It's another one of you lot. And wearing pink paisley to boot. Hasn't anyone ever taught you how to dress? A proper nancy boy you look, in those dresses you wear."

Harry, listening from upstairs, muffled a snicker. Even Uncle Vernon wouldn't have dared call Hagrid a nancy boy. Hagrid was big enough to fold Uncle Vernon in half if he had a mind to.

Aunt Petunia arrived from the kitchen, wearing a yellow apron and saying curtly and calmly, "Oh, do come in. You're wasting your time, I suspect, but have a seat. We'll already have to explain to the neighbors why the nutty old professor is walking about our neighborhood, we might as well not try to convince them you're a Witness."

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, strode into the house, looking dubiously at the sofa before sitting. "I was wondering if I might have a word with your ward, Harry Potter."

Aunt Petunia sat down across from Albus in a Queen Anne chair, and picked up her knitting. "You may." she said quietly, before loudly calling for Harry. (Harry had always admired her ability to belt his name without shouting.)

Harry Potter came down the stairs lightly, pleased that it was the Headmaster he was to talk to. Not that he trusted the Headmaster even for a blink of his eye. The smiling old man looked about as shifty as you'd expect from someone who had sent Hagrid to talk with Harry Potter and get him oriented to the Magical World. Harry came to rest in front of the Headmaster, crossing his arms behind his back as he leaned forward a bit, looming slight over the older man. "Headmaster. Or is it Supreme Mugwump?"

Albus Dumbledore's eyes sparkled, and he gave a hearty chuckle, "Professor will do, Harry." Harry chalked up another point against the Headmaster, who had apparently decided that either they were entirely too intimate to use last names, or that Harry was too much of a child to be allowed the honor of being addressed by his last name.

Harry smiled slightly, and said a bit hastily, "I'm sorry you've come all this way for nothing, Professor. I suppose you haven't got my letter yet, have you? I mentioned I'd be declining your kind offer, as I've already accepted another. The Crick-Priestly school is well-regarded, and I have to tell you, I'm really looking forward to learning about stars." Harry said with an earnest smile, dangling the bait right under Dumbledore's nose.

"Oh, Harry, I think you'll learn plenty about the stars if you come to Hogwarts! We have a few class that revolve around Astronomy."

"Can you tell me about neutron stars?" Harry asked pointedly.

"No, I can't say that I've even heard about them." Dumbledore said honestly.

"Well, if you're still here in a few hours, I'd love to show you one." Harry said with a grin. Aunt Petunia, still knitting (she never knit, but Harry applauded the circumspective eavesdropping It wasn't as if Dumbledore was going to get Aunt Petunia to leave her own sitting room), gave a cough at that.

Bewildered, Dumbledore said earnestly, "But Harry, don't you want to learn about magic?"

Harry Potter smiled, and said, "I've got the books already, you know. I don't see why I should need to go to your school in order to learn. And I can pick up quite a bit more than just magic if I go to Crick-Priestly."

Dumbledore shifted uneasily in his seat, saying, "But Harry! Your parents would want you to learn about magic. Your mother loved charms."

Aunt Petunia looked up at this, discarding any pretense that she was just knitting, and said, "That's the thing of it, isn't it? She's dead, isn't she? Her husband too."

Harry Potter looked sharply at Dumbledore, and said, "It... it looks like there's a target on my head, too. See this scar? Tell me that there's no one who doesn't want to do me in. Tell me."

Dumbledore blinked, and said, "Harry, it's... extremely important that you go to Hogwarts. I can't say it won't be dangerous, but you won't escape danger at Crick-Priestly either."

"I won't? I thought most wizards couldn't navigate Muggle environs." Harry Potter said, obliquely waving his hand at Dumbledore to demonstrate exactly what he was talking about. Aunt Petunia muffled a snicker.

"It doesn't take a genius to cast the killing curse." Dumbledore said sternly. "Nor someone blending in terribly well, in truth."

"Then why haven't they already?" Harry Potter demanded.

"You're... safe here. Your mother... there's some sort of ... wards... around your home." Dumbledore said slowly, as if trying not to tell Harry anything at all. Harry seethed under the circumlocutions.

"So, if I'm to ever leave... I need to go to Hogwarts?"

"Exactly, my boy!"

"I don't see why I shouldn't go to upper school here, then." Harry said firmly, crossing his arms. "I don't want to be famous, and I don't want to get hurt."

Dumbledore took a slow breath, mentally cursing the absence of Severus Snape (even explosively belligerent, he might have been able to twist this better.) "The Wizarding World, right now, is in a cold war. If you do not return to Hogwarts, the spirits of the Light Side will flag, and people who mean you harm might be able to consolidate their power. "

"Why me? An eleven year old?!"

"Your survival was a miracle, Harry."

"Well, I can't count on a miracle to keep me safe again, now can I?" Harry said, "I'll pass."

"Harry, we can keep you safe. I'm not sending you to a battle with adult wizards. I'm talking about you going to the school where your parents went."

"I don't want to go, how is that so hard?" Harry said quietly.

"Harry, we need you... please, if there's anything that I can offer you... You must go to school, for your own safety... and everyone else's." Dumbledore said.

"It... it almost sounds like you... want me to be some sort of hero or something." Harry stammered, belatedly falling back into his role.

"That's precisely right. So, you must understand, you're needed at Hogwarts."

Harry looked down at his foot, playing with his toe, and then looked up, saying, "May I have some time to think about it?" He already knew his answer, of course - Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon weren't about to pay for a proper school for him, nevermind what he had made up.

"Yes, of course my boy. " Dumbledore smiled, looking at the wide-eyed expression on the boy's face. Still, a little something wouldn't hurt, would it? "Here, my boy, as a token of my esteem." Dumbledore summoned a rocking horse, which could whinny and actually flex itself into rocking around the room. Harry Potter looked at the old man, and hadn't the heart to tell him he'd just given Harry a gift for a five year old, not a nearly-grown eleven year old.

[a/n: How well'd I do? I don't think Harry's managing to stay terribly Gryffindor here... but he's really wanting answers more than he wants to stick to type. Leave a review!]


	17. The Stick

Harry filled over an hour with his scribbles - little notes on what the Mugwump had said, and how, and how the questioning had gone. It was vital to preserve things that he couldn't call back to mind, after all. After he was sure that he had it all done, he went and found Aunt Petunia, who had been sitting in front of her television watching one of her soaps. "Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked meekly.

"Oh, I suppose you want my take?" Aunt Petunia said, running a hand through her shoulder-length hair. Harry blinked. Were her eyes sparkling? Harry nodded his assent, and Aunt Petunia continued, "Outside, by the roses." Harry fought to not wrinkle his nose. The roses were some of the most demanding of his chores, and he was never allowed to say "but it rained too much!" or any of the other reasons why they never seemed to bloom as well as Mrs. Figg's across the way. He was under no circumstances to mention Mrs. Figg's opinion, which was that she talked to her roses, and thus they liked her better.

"What did you get out of that meeting?" Harry asked, quite curious.

"He's hiding something. A lot of somethings." Aunt Petunia said shortly.

"I wondered if he'd told me anything at all, by the end." Harry said, quite serious.

"First, he didn't expect you to say no. I'm not sure how much he knows of how we've raised you - that may just be an innate superiority complex." Aunt Petunia said, and Harry found himself blinking again. He hadn't realized Aunt Petunia even knew the words, let alone could use them properly.

"Second, I'm important, somehow. Not just for what happened before I met you, either. Something's... something's the matter with me." Harry said pausing.

"Third, he wants you there willingly. That means that whatever he wants, it's something you're to do, or something like that." Aunt Petunia said, sounding a bit firmer.

"Fourth, he thinks I'm the mental equivalent of a six year old. A rocking horse!" Harry said, and Aunt Petunia stifled a chuckle.

"Fifth, there's something special. Here. I'd like to know what it is - was it something my sainted sister had done?"

"Well, we know it's not me, at least. And Sixth - I'm not immortal, and people want to hurt me. Adults, not just other kids."

Aunt Petunia frowned, "Well, you've heard the carrot... Do you really want to see the stick?"

Harry nodded, saying, "I suppose he really won't let me go to Muggle school."

"I'm afraid not, boy." Aunt Petunia said, frowning sadly at him.

The next morning, Harry wrote an acceptance letter to Hogwarts School of Wizardry. He put it in the postbox, as he hadn't an owl. Somehow, he was confident that they'd find it anyway.

[a/n: Aunt Petunia is ... a few shades away from Cruella deVille, isn't she? Leave a review if you like it.]


	18. Futility

Harry Potter spent the rest of the summer reading. Books weren't an unusual thing to find in his hands in the first place, but this summer, for the first time, he hadn't any chores to do. Oh, that had been a fight (between his aunt and uncle). In fact, it was so much of a fight that Dudley had crept down to where Harry was (with the door a crack open to his cupboard), and hid beside him, quietly listening. Dudley'd never heard his parents fight before, and that apparently warranted a bit of spying.

At the end of it all, Aunt Petunia had told him curtly that he'd need to do chores next summer, and that she'd pick out ones appropriate for a twelve-year-old. Harry Potter knew what that meant - it meant that he'd be doing ALL the chores, not just the ones a six year old might be let to do. Not that he particularly minded. He had a (somehow?) safe home here, and Aunt Petunia was doing him a good turn by giving him the rest of the summer off.

Harry had an entire new culture to learn, new history, not to mention the magic. Not that he was allowed to touch his wand (Aunt Petunia had carefully hidden it in a place that Harry could pick in a jiffy if he needed to - but, more importantly, that Uncle Vernon didn't know about. It was usually used to store Biscoffs).

Harry was here at King Street Station, and he was so nervous he was finding it hard to breath. He had walked to platform 9, and then to platform 10, and hadn't been able to find platform 9 and 3/4. Harry knew that if he somehow managed to miss the train, someone would probably show up... sooner or later (he had read all about point me spells, since they were in first year Charms).

Still, Harry'd prefer not to look any more ungrateful than he already did (he was looking to get into Gryffindor, not Hufflepuff, where such appelations would probably have never been applied to him.). And so he watched carefully, striding quickly towards the pack of redheads who were carrying owls, hoping that he hadn't guessed wrong (surely Muggle owls would have their eyes closed. Surely?).

"Excuse me," Harry Potter said, as the whole lot of them turned toward him. "Can you tell me how to get to Platform 9 and three quarters?"

The warm matron smiled at him and said, "Of course. You need to go straight through that pillar. Don't worry, it won't hurt."

Harry Potter looked at her and gulped.

The youngest (younger than Harry, she looked, and that was something, as Harry was often mistaken for eight or nine years) piped up, "Best if you take it at a run, if you're scared."

Harry Potter shot her a heated look, saying huffily, "I'm _never_ scared." That was a flat out lie, of course, but it sounded like something a Gryffindor would say. And then Harry was running, praying that they weren't trying to trick him (they'd only just met him, even Dudley had taken a year before he thought about tripping Harry...). Harry shut his eyes as he ran flat out at the pillar, stumbling forward surprised as he entered the Magic Platform without any resistance.

There, he heard some older students chuckling at him, before one of them goodnaturedly stretched out an arm, asking, "First time?"

Harry Potter forced himself to grasp the arm (grasping it so firmly, in fact, that the other boy winced. Harry did not want to be dropped, even from two feet off the ground). "Yes, how'd you know?"

"Nobody else'd stumble quite like that." the dark haired boy said, "Now, we'd best get you out of the way, before the next group comes through." As Harry tried to step out of the way, he found himself embroiled in the mass of redheads that he had met earlier. "Thanks!" he called at the dark haired boy, even as he was swept toward the train (which was quite a feat, considering his trunk was heavy enough that he had trouble moving it.)**

**twins.

[a/n: and, hey, we found the train! ]


	19. Through Jaded Eyes

Harry Potter got some help from one of the ginger brood, hauling his chest onto the train. After that, he settled into a compartment by himself, and opened a book he had kept specifically for that purpose. It was his Potions book, actually. Harry had always liked cooking, and chemistry had sounded fascinating enough already - so how much more brilliant would it be with the addition of magic?

Harry Potter had spent the last month reading, true, but he had mostly read books on Wizarding culture and lore. If he was settled in a house with people who wanted to look down on Muggles (as was apparently quite common), he wanted to be able to at least look knowledgeable, if not proficient.

Before the train actually started, a redhead popped in - from the gangly look of him, Harry Potter figured he was about eleven. Maybe twelve. "Is this your first time?" he asked mildly.

"Yeah, but I've got older brothers, and so I've heard all about it!"

"I'm jealous. What have you heard?" Harry Potter responded, feeling a brief twinge of "why couldn't i" before suppressing it.

"Cor! Big brothers are nothing but trouble! Why, last week Fred and George pinched one of my schoolbooks, and they wouldn't even tell me which one. So of course I couldn't go complain to Mum, because for her to get it back, she needs to know which one!"

Harry muffled a snicker.

"Enough about my brothers. Hogwarts is a grand place full of magical staircases and ghosts, and even a poltergeist!" Ron said excitedly.

"What's your name?" Harry Potter asked.

"You are new, aren't you? Name's Ronald Weasley, but better just call me Ron. Hardly anyone ever uses my full name except mum." Harry Potter considered this information for a moment, before nodding absently.

"And what house are you going to be in?" Harry Potter asked, wondering what he'd say. Had harry gotten it wrong, and would he just not know? Did everyone come knowing where they'd be sorted, except the Muggleborns?

"Oh, my entire family's been Gryffindor for four generations. And, since that includes five older brothers, I think it's pretty safe to say that I'm going to be in Gryffindor." Ron said.

"Is that what you want, though? Or is it just what's ... expected?" Harry asked carefully.

"Bit o' both, really. I'm not the smartest knife in the shed, so I'd probably not fit Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff would be fine I suppose - but then my parents would get this look in their eye, and they'd say that 'It's perfectly alright to be a Hufflepuff' in such a way that I'd know they were disappointed in me, just a bit." Ron said all this in the space of three breaths, and Harry Potter wondered if having such good lungs was one characteristic of younger boys in large families.

"And - if you got into Slytherin?" Harry Potter prompted, not at all phased with having to lead the other boy around by the nose. Ron was right, he really wasn't the sharpest knife in the shed.

"Oh! But I wouldn't. Everyone knows Slytherins are nasty sneaks and liars. Cor! If I got into Slytherin, I'd just as soon kill myself!" Harry Potter nodded, not so much in agreement as in judgement. This child was just as credulous as Hagrid, Harry Potter thought.

Unlike Hagrid, this one could prove useful.

"Excuse me!" a bossy, brown-haired girl said, pulling open the door to their compartment. Behind her was a pudgy sandyhaired kid, looking uncomfortable and almost shy. "Has anyone seen a frog?"

"No, I quite think I'd remember that." Harry Potter said, his eyes sparkling just a bit. I suppose someone had to bring it, if it was allowed as a familiar.

As the girl pulled the door shut, Ron said snidely, "I hope we don't get put in the same house as that girl. She's a sight!" Harry Potter kept his face still, though he liked Ron making fun of people even less than he liked Dudley doing it. Dudley at least had Uncle Vernon to blame.

A while later, the confections truck came by, and Harry noticed exactly how many different wizarding candies they had. Looking at his ample pursestrings, he said, "I'll have one of each." Rather belatedly, he saw ron looking covetously at him, and, realizing he knew precisely what it felt to be left out of a towering temptation of treats, he paused, and said, "Better make that two of each."

"Are you sure young man?" The lady asked kindly and he said, "Absolutely"

As the pile on the ground between the two boys grew larger, Ron's eyes got wide as waffles.

There was a knock at the door, and Harry Potter got up to get it. He saw the bushy haired girl, and her trusty sidekick. "Excuse me, can we sit here? All the other compartments are empty."

"Free country." Harry Potter said, and Hermione Granger smiled, delighted. They both entered, Hermione sitting down first.

"I'm Hermione Granger. Who are you?" Hermione said.

"I'm Harry Potter - but can you keep it down?" Harry Potter said, his voice low. Hermione nodded quickly, and even the sandyhaired boy nodded, still staring gapemouthed.

"Blimey! I've been talking to the one, the only, THE Harry Potter, Boy whow lived, fo rhours without even knowing it!" Ron said, shocked.

"Oh, give it a rest." Harry Potter said offhandedly.

"So, I got two of everything - since I didn't realize we'd have company. Take as much as you like!"

Nevile dove in, but not quicker than Ron - both of them busy sorting out their absolute favorites. Hermione just looked awkward, and a little shifty.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"My parents are dentists. I dont think this much sugar is good for our teeth." Hermione whined.

"Well, then you'd better chomp down! Or would you rather leave us to our ill-gotten gains..."

"Ill-gotten gains?"

"Cavities, of course!" and Harry and Hermione joined in laughter.

There was another knock on the door, and that platinum blonde from earlier showed up, "Has anyone seen Harry Potter?"

Hermione had her mouth open, so there was really no reason why not to step on her foot. Leavng her stifling a lump, Harry Potter stood up and said, "no, I certainly haven't seen him. The three boys left without a word.

[a/n: you'll like this.]


	20. No Mirrors on the Train

There were benefits to being quiet, Harry thought, as the hubbub of people talking around him washed over him like water over a stone. This Granger seemed like a smart enough girl -witch he mentally corrected himself. Yet, even she wanted to go into Gryffindor. Somehow she thought bravery was the best virtue. Which seemed like a lot of nonsense to Harry. Being brave without being clever was likely to get you into all sorts of jams.

Harry mentally reviewed the list of Gryffindor Events he had managed in his life. Truth be told, they weren't many, but he intended to get himself sorted into the House of Heroes, whether anyone liked it or not. And since he wasn't sure exactly how the hat decided - other than the bland statement that "whatever the hat decides is best" - which seemed like a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, particularly as there weren't resortings (and yes, he had read about a few children who had begged to be resorted, and quite a few more parents who had arrived in high dugeon.)

Ron Weasley continued to seem thick - showing off a spell that his brothers' had taught him. Harry hadn't heard of it, Granger was predictably snide, and Longbottom looked like he was trying to muffle his own laughter. Still, Harry thought, they're talking to me. This was a new occurrence. Everyone before this had learned to leave him alone as quickly as Dudley chuffed up a hill.

Harry picked and listened to the kids talking - Longbottom seemed a bit of a dope, but quiet and a bit pensive as well. Granger was snotty, and smug, and full of facts upon facts. Not that Harry wasn't full of facts, he just preferred not to give them all in one sitting, so to speak.

The blond and the two thugs had left the door open a crack, so when Harry made a joke about the cat stalking the basilisk (stone-cold curiosity), Hermione squealed, "Harry!"

Apparently the blond and his thugs were just outside, as the door opened rapidly, the blond looking at the rest of them, "So you're Harry Potter, are you?"

"That's what everyone keeps telling me." Harry says with a modest smile, "Of course I keep on telling them other things, but they never seem to stick."

"I'm Draco Malfoy," the blond said, extending his hand, "And I can show you which wizards you'd do better to befriend."

Ron apparently hadn't counted on Malfoy's pompousness, as he started guffawing*.

"Not like this riffraff here," Malfoy said grandly, "Red hair and handmedown clothes, it must be a Weasley!"

"I think I can make my own decisions, thanks." Harry said gently but firmly. Draco's face darkened, as he abruptly whirled, shutting the door.

Harry frowned at that, Ron's voice piping up as he started a grand imitation of Malfoy that had the other two in stitches. _Which wizards was he talking about? Damn it all to hell, this is going to drive me mad! I should have asked that_ _ **first**_ _, before saying 'no thanks.' Even if they were really, really bad ideas, at least I'd know more than I do now!_

As the train came into the station, everyone shucked on robes on top of their clothing (well, Longbottom was already in robes, he said his grandmum was strict - but fair. Harry privately thought the pause there was both telling and interesting).

[a/n: Write a review! Pensive, quiet Harry is overthinking Malfoy a bit, but... that's life!]

*unbeknownst to Harry, Ron's thought was "my god, he sounds like Percy!"


	21. Off the train and on to Hogwarts

Harry Potter found getting off the train to be much easier than getting on it. For one thing, he wasn't carrying his trunk. None of the first years were, actually. They were, instead, crowding around Hagrid, who led them from the station down to the boats. "Four to a boat, kids, four to a boat!" Hagrid said with a smile. "Mind you don't argue, or ya might take a dip!"

Harry Potter took his advice to heart, wondering how these boats were going to travel, without sail or oar. Was _Hagrid_ allowed to cast? He got into the boat with Longbottom Granger and Weasley, - watching carefully as other people piled into boats. Malfoy, of course, was with his two thugs, and someone else that Harry didn't recognize. The other kid looked really a bit unhappy to be in the boat - Harry could certainly sympathize.

The lake was black, and dark and deep. The boats appeared to move without anyone touching them, or saying a spell. Surely there weren't Magic Boats - surely they were like broomsticks, interwoven with spells instead of pitch and turpentine?

Hermione Granger, on the other hand, was talkative with nervousness. Harry wanted to silence her in the _worst_ way possible (as he was trying to review his thoughts on _how_ to get into Gryffindor. How _does_ one reason with a Sorting hat? Harry had devised a multicolored flow chart...), but instead settled for just tuning her out.

Hogwarts drifted out of the fog, which was quite a feat for such a large castle. Seeing it, even Hermione stopped talking. Weasley, for whatever reason, looked pale (well, as pale as one can with freckles).

They docked at an actual dock (which was a relief, as Harry didn't want to get _more_ sand in his shoes, and Hagrid led them up the hill towards the castle. Harry looked at the stiff, tartan-bedecked woman at the door. "I am Professor McGonagall, and you are all welcome to Hogwarts. As this is your first year, we are taking you to be sorted into houses. You will take classes and sleep with these children, so try to make friends," the prim lady looked sharply at one Slytherin who was trying to put a snake down a girl's neckhole, "Or at least not make enemies the very first day." With an audible sniff, McGonagall turned away from the group, and belted, "Follow me!" in a voice that echoed up and down the halls.

As they walked up the stairs, Weasley was telling Harry about how they were to be sorted by a troll - or at least that's what his brother said. Malfoy was holding forth on the "drinking a potion and changing colors" idea - Harry had to give him points for inventiveness, as the slight smirk to Malfoy's lips said that he was making this up out of whole cloth. There were a few other rumors going round - the soon-to-be-Hufflepuffs had the story of a PygmyPuff, and the kids that it liked would go into Hufflepuff, and the ones that it fled from would go into Slytherin. Harry thought crossly, _Even the house of Friendship and Other Stuff doesn't like the Slytherins!_ As they neared the door, Harry heard Hermione piping up, in that know it all way, " _Actually_ , Ron-" (And a good thing too, as a steadily more put-upon Harry was leaning towards asking the entire group who'd actually bothered to read _anything_ about this before they came here, and by doing that decide right then and there who was reliable, and who was just a _waste of time_.)

Granger didn't get past those words, as suddenly ghosts floated out of the ceiling, in the cavernous room they were currently in. They were all chatting to each other (including the one with a hatchet in his chest, and blood spurting down his prominently cut neck.) and seemed to be ignoring the kids. Hermione, on the other hand, had a greedy gleam in her eye, as if she wanted to _bottle_ the ghosts and see exactly what made them tick.

"Calm down, children. You want to make a good impression on your elders. Follow me to your seats up front, and you can sit there until you're called to be sorted." Professor McGonagall said, apparently immune to understanding the fear that ran through the children. If only she had just said how they were to be sorted!

They all sat in simple, fold out chairs in front of the High Table (which was on a dais), and facing the four tables backed by banners identifying them by House Animal. The badger, of all things, looked ferocious at Harry, and flexed its claws. The snake seemed to be saying that it was warm here, and therefore it liked to stay quiet. The lion regally surveiled everything, looking lazy as anything. What caught Harry's attention was the eagle, which swooped around the tapestry as if it hated to be caged (Harry quite knew that feeling). Harry Potter was unsurprised to see a tattered hat waiting on a three legged stool. He swallowed, sitting on his hands to hide his nerves.

[a/n: up next, the sorting! Where do you think Harry will wind up? Any place you'd like to see? No Hufflepuff, even I can't justify that from what I've already written. Leave me a review, regardless!]


	22. The Sorting

Harry watched quietly as each person was called up to put on the hat. Every single person seemed nervous - did people really think this - was it really going to make that much difference? Bloody hell, they were making Harry nervous. Which was quite a feat, as Harry was already nervous.

Still, Harry watched quietly, even moreso as the children took the hat off. Strangely, very few of them looked displeased. Did the hat really know what it was doing? Harry watched Granger get sorted to Gryffindor, and refrained from clapping (as no one else was, and it would be noticeable), hopefully wondering if he might be able to make use of the brainy girl. The Gryffindors (as expected) erupted in loud cheers - Harry hadn't seen anything in the book that had referenced their cheerful boisterousness, but he supposed that, so long as there wasn't a war on, the Gryffindors would continue to act like the happy puppy pack that they so much resembled.

Longbottom, Harry was surprised to see, went to Gryffindor, looking more out of place than Granger - who had seemed happy (while clutching a book - was that Hogwarts a History?). Longbottom, on the other hand, simply looked... afraid. For his sake, Harry hoped that the poor kid turned over a new leaf here. It was clear that being shy wasn't a normal Gryffindor trait.

Harry watched Malfoy get sent to Slytherin, and really had to stop himself from clapping. Not simply because he was hoping not to be sent there as well, but because the blond had sounded _completely certain_ that he had to go there, and Harry wasn't the type of person who wanted someone hurt, even if that person was a foppish brat.

Harry saw someone go over to the Ravenclaw table, and marked at how even the applause was. In fact, thinking back, he realized something. The Gryffindors cheered for their own, yes, but the Hufflepuffs clapped in unison (how Russian) when a Gryffindor was sorted, and the Ravenclaws did soft, polite clapping too. The Hufflepuffs continued to clap in unison (but louder) whenever someone got sorted into their house (the Gryffindors clapped in a scattershot fashion for anyone going to Hufflepuff, almost as if no one had agreed to do anything, so people did exactly what they fancied) - the Ravenclaws did their soft polite clapping. When a Ravenclaw was sorted, there was a sort of muted silence through the hall, the Ravenclaws clapping quietly - hands on shoulders, welcoming all. When a Slytherin got sorted, however, there were glares, and a few of the Gryffindors even hissed. The Slytherins only clapped for their own, and clapped firmly, as if they needed to outshout the rest of the hall's studious silence.

Harry devoutly hoped he wouldn't be in Slytherin. Even the welcome there seemed cold and assessing - and the looks from the rest of the school were far from encouraging.

Finally, he heard "Harry Potter" announced from McGonagall's lips. Gritting his teeth to keep from shaking, he stood up and walked with eyes straight, toward the sorting hat. Out of the corners of his eyes, he wondered if he imagined all the conversation stopping - the entire hall taking on an unnatural air of quiet. Oh, the Slytherins affected an air of unconcern - but they were still quiet, still watchful. Perhaps the most watchful, which was really no surprise, their house trait being Cunning.

Harry Potter put the hat on his head, slightly annoyed at it dropping over his eyes.

"Hello, who do we have here?"

"Harry Potter, Sir Sorting Hat. Soon to be Gryffindor."

"Oh, my! THE Harry Potter, under my brim!" Harry swore he heard the hat frown. "And just why does THE Harry Potter want to be in Gryffindor, of all places."

"Well, see, it's just, everyone seems to expect me to be a hero - and isn't Gryffindor the House of Heroes?" Harry Potter managed in as abashed and bashful a tone as he could manage.

"You'll find there are heroes in all the houses, child. And, really, such an odd reason to want to be in Gryffindor." Harry Potter could hear the hat's intent sharpening. "You, who doesn't even _want_ to be a hero. Really, you want to be in Gryffindor? Whyever there?"

Harry Potter took a deep breath and started to tell the truth. "It's the best place to hide, Sir Hat. If no one's expecting me to be anything other than what I appear, well, then I can do as I please - at least occasionally. Enough to stand a chance."

"Why, what a _Slytherin_ reason to want to go to Gryffindor!" The hat paused, and said, "Surely you can do better than that."

"I've made friends with a Weasel and a Granger, and they're going to Gryffindor, I mean you already know that Granger is going, and I can't possibly see that lazy Weasel going anyplace else... Couldn't you please put me in Gryffindor?" Harry asked, his eyes wide with the pleading.

"Why, what a _Hufflepuff_ reason to want to be in Gryffindor!" Sir Hat said, and Harry could swear his eyes twinkled.

"I'm not a hero now, Sir Hat, and I can't really imagine wanting to be a hero, but I think Gryffindor House might teach me better about the skills I'm going to need to be a hero."

Sir Hat then muttered a snippy, "not likely" before saying, "Why, what a _Ravenclaw_ reason to go to the house of the lions."

Harry Potter was at this point seriously considering throwing the hat down and saying to the Headmaster and teachers, "YOU sort me, because the blasted hat won't!" (of course, the slow mutters of the entire hall, as Harry spent more time than 10 of the other students combined, made this worse.)

"Before you do that," Sir Hat said quietly, and Harry froze, belatedly remembering that the Hat could read minds. "You'd fit better in Slytherin or Ravenclaw, you do know that, don't you?"

"Yes, of course." Harry Potter said with a roll of his eyes. "But everyone hates the Slytherins, and I think there are some supremacists there."

"There are, indeed" Sir Hat said, sounding seriously for once, "Won't you at least consider Ravenclaw?"

"No." Harry Potter said, "Ravenclaw will not get me quite the scrutiny of Slytherin, but I don't want people paying attention to me. I just want to be normal."

"You do not, Lord Potter. You do not want to be normal."  
"Fine. I want to be absurdly powerful, but not to have anyone be aware of it."

"Well, that's at least the truth."

"The truth and I do have a passing acquaintance."

"Give me a reason for putting you in Gryffindor, and I'll do so." Sir Hat said, with a longsuffering sigh.

Harry Potter thought, quietly, sitting there and swinging his feet on the chair, thinking carefully over everything the hat had said. Swiftly, he stiffened, saying suddenly, with gritted teeth, "If you don't put me in Gryffindor, I will murder Draco Malfoy in cold blood and blame the whole thing on _you_."

Another longsuffering sigh came out of the Sorting Hat, as it said, "Good enough, I suppose. I'm not sure quite what I was expecting."

And the Hat opened its mouth, twenty minutes late, and said, "Gryffindor!"

The shouts (led by two redheaded Weasels) from the Gryffindor table were as raucous as expected, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" The entire world seemed to shift back to a relieved quiescence, as if the tension of "what if he's-?" had evaporated and left a good humor. Even a Slytherin was smiling, whispering to his friend. Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from whispering to one of the twins, "Just Barely."

[a/n: Write me a review? Pretty please? Reviews keep me writing this story and not half a dozen other ones I'm working on.]


	23. At the Gryffindor Table

The rest of the children were sorted in good form and quickly. Harry Potter fought to look less interested in the process, managing a slightly vacant stare rather than the rather perceptive, sharp-eyed look that he knew would be normal on his face. Dudley had always hated that look anyway, and Uncle Vernon called it his "Scheming Look" and was likely to take offense. Not that Harry'd generally done anything to warrant offense. Picking up on who was high and who was low, slipping smoothly in between the cracks, Not a word spoken - but every teensy action precisely calculated to work in his favor.* Mostly what he learned was that every kid was quietly scared and none of them were getting sorted to places they would rather not be. Or, at least, this was how they acted. Quietly confident that there must be some rhyme involved. Because it certainly wasn't reason, Harry thought, looking at Smith in Hufflepuff, Goyle in Slytherin, Granger in Gryffindor. Hm. Apparently the Ravenclaws were so quiet this year that he hadn't an opinion about them. Well, that just bore watching, didn't it.

"ZAMBINI!" McGonagall cried.

"Slytherin!" the hat said a short while later.

Harry's gaze narrowed, despite his best efforts, as the Headmaster stood. "A few announcements before we begin. I would like to introduce our new Muggle Studies Professor, Craig Hopkins, and our latest incarnation of the Defense against the Dark Arts professor, Quirinus Quirrel." At this, there was a bout of suppressed clapping, though Harry thought he saw a few people up at the High Table looking a little, shall we say, upset. Still, Harry'd bet a pool table that the stout woman with the warm grin was a Hufflepuff (possibly Head of House). Dumbledore continued, "Our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death. Additionally, you will find a full list of contraband in his office. Please do not remove the contraband from his office, if you do not wish immediate detention." Dumbledore paused, and said firmly, "The Forbidden Forest remains forbidden, and is off limits until the next aeon." He paused, eyes - of all things - twinkling and said, "And a few last words, Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" With a graceful half bow, the starbedazzled robe wearing man said, "Let the feast begin!"

Harry jumped as food appeared on the table, his conditioning setting in immediately, as he looked at Ron Weasley (sitting a few spots down at the table, which made it harder to see). Ron was piling food on his plate as quickly as anything, so Harry followed suit. As he did, he snuck a glance up at the High Table. Instantly, Harry felt his head throb, as he looked into a pair of ... timeless, impenetrable, endless eyes. As black as the void... Harry thought, his head pulsing with pain, before abruptly realizing that those eyes were looking - no, glaring, at _him_. Quickly, he ducked his head, keeping his eyes glued to his plate (as far as he could, stolen sidealong glances continued to show that he was still being glared at). Harry quickly came to a resolution. He needed to know more about that person. That... teacher? Harry wondered. Certainly, no teacher had ever looked at Harry like that - they seemed to exist in some sort of sublime indifference to anything Dudley ever did to him. During the feast, Harry quietly listened to the conversation around him, which revolved around Quiddich (something Harry hadn't had the funds to pull books on, and resolved to at least grasp the basics before the week was out. So as not to look entirely ignorant).

Harry and the other first years followed Prefect Percy Weasley (as he introduced himself) up to Gryffindor tower. Harry listened closely (while, trying, not to look too interested. Percy seemed the type to like reminders, anyway).

After that, the first years tumbled into the Common Room Proper, and Harry quickly headed over to the pair of loud-mouthed twins. "You lot seemed helpful earlier. Care to answer a question for me?"

The twins looked at him with broad grins, saying, "And what wild and world-changing question has young Harry Potter brought us today? Are you so certain that we'll answer it?"

Harry responded with a nod. "There was a man at the High Table. Looked to be glaring at me the whole time. Who was he?"

The twins smiled, and said, "That'd be Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House. Teaches Potions. Despises Gryffindors."

"Is that why my head hurt when I looked at him?" Harry asked.

"No, he can't make your head hurt by glaring." One twin said.

The other one said with a teasing grin, "It's said he can read mind, though, and the symptoms of that are a headache."

"Well, I was certain you'd answer my questions. But you've answered one I didn't ask, haven't you? Certainly, you're having me on." Harry Potter said, smiling slightly.

"Nah, sir, sir, We'd na do tha," one twin said.

"Besides, it were me da tha said 'e coulda read minds... and he doesn't lie." the other one said. Harry Potter felt a chill run through him. The head of Slytherin House could read minds? That sounded chilling. A person like that might take it as a personal affront if he determined that Harry had deliberately avoided being put in his house. For some reason, Harry Potter was very, very glad that the saturnine man was not going to be in charge of his stay at Hogwarts.

*This considered approach works because he's not making too many actions. It's school, not Voldemort's mansion.

[a/n: Well, Snape's in. And as for why the twins are switching accents? Personal amusement. Up next: further adventures of a Slytherin trying to fit into Gryffindor.

Write me a review? Please?]


	24. Turn me upside down

Harry Potter directed his feet toward the First Year boys, who were in the common room (instead of unpacking), busily chatting about nothing much of importance. Or, he thought wryly, at least that's how they'd describe it to their mum. Harry, being rather new here, was bound to find everything of importance. Well, other than the scores at Quiddich. Harry was rather sure that he'd be hopeless at that, like most sports, and he had never had the patience to learn much about football anyway. It was Uncle Vernon and Dudley who liked sports, never Harry - and they always liked rugby, which to a younger Harry had always seemed like "the most violent game possible, and still be a game."

Luckily, Seamus (pronounced Shamus, like the private dick) had some cards. Harry Potter watched from the sidelines, until he had the hang of it. They didn't ask him to participate, and so he didn't, instead hanging on and watching as much as he could to get a bit of strategy from the game. Not that there was much of it, it seemed like a game for eight year olds.

"Alright, kiddoes, off to bed now!" One of the older prefects had said, swooshing all of the first years off to bed. "School starts bright and early, so be up by eight thirty!" Harry Potter blinked at that, as he was used to being up at six in the morning. With a sigh, he mourned the lack of alarm clock, and hoped he'd be able to wake with the sun on his face. With that thought, he scrambled upstairs - faster than any of the boys, and most of the girls heading up the opposite stair. Granger, of course, had already retired (probably organizing a bundle of books, Harry thought knowingly).

Harry nestled down to sleep, abiding by the unspoken rule of Gryffindor - never do anything earlier than you absolutely had to. All the trunks stayed packed, and Harry knew with a sigh that tomorrow morning he wasn't going to get anything important done.

* * *

Harry woke gladly at the crack of dawn (5:30, he thought), pausing only to slip into the shower for a rinse and to throw on the first clothes he had to hand. He bonelessly relaxed into the feel of the clothes - they were both better fitting and better fabric than he was used to. Still, he thought, he had things to do - and he wasn't going to get them done in the showers.

Harry Potter scampered down the stairs, quiet as always, as he found a decent hiding place. His quick eyes hadn't seen any textbooks out, which honestly was no surprise. The Gryffindors as a whole liked to procrastinate, and it seemed like the older ones might know places where it would be possible to work without being bothered, anyway. Harry Potter pulled out his wand, and began to practice spells. Oh, certainly, he had already read about spells - but he hadn't practiced a single one.

None of them turned out properly, but Harry didn't care. It was the feel of the magic, the feel of guiding it, that he was really after. He didn't want to look foolish on the first day of classes, after all.

[a/n: You've been there, nervous as all get out, haven't you? Write a review, lovelies!]


	25. A Questionable Choice pays off

Harry practiced until it was 8 in the morning, wondering to himself if he ought to think about a program of calisthenics as well. By the end of it, his concentration was wavering, and he doubted he could get even a wisp of magic to go where he wanted it to go. Hopefully he'd recover soon, he thought, his heartbeat spiking at the thought of being caught without even the barest of minimal capabilities. Reassuring himself, Harry thought that he'd at least have allies here - Ron Weasley seemed like he considered Harry a friend, and Harry hoped that Gryffindor Friends wouldn't run from a scrap, even if they weren't directly involved. Also, this was a Magical World, Harry thought with a grin. Pounding someone's face in (as Dudley had often done to Harry) was likely to catch someone offguard. Thinking about this, Harry flexed a fist, looking at his frankly pathetic biceps. Well, Harry thought, that's just something else to improve.

Hearing the first stirrings of people from upstairs, he climbed out of the quiet cubbyhole, and sprawled himself on the couch, languid like a lion. The first visitor from the House of Laggards was Percy Weasley, which really oughtn't to have surprised Harry. Ever officious, Percy informed Harry that "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day" and that Percy intended to "get a good start" on his studies, and thought that Harry should accompany him. Harry waved a hand and politely declined, saying that he intended to wait for his age-mates.

Not five minutes later, Hermione Granger flounced down the stairs, just as full of self-importance as Percy, but considerably more nervous, which made it feel like the self-importance was just a well-honed cover for insecurity. Harry'd have said something to her, but she bustled so quickly out the door that she didn't notice him, and Harry felt like if she wanted to get to breakfast so badly, he really ought to just let her.

Suddenly, energy like electricity shot through Harry's body*, as he suddenly realized that he hadn't his books. He shot up the stairs to his room like a bolt of lighting out of the clear blue. His feet pounded the floor as he flew towards his dormroom. He opened the door into chaos - clothes strewn this way and that, Neville yawning blearily - and Dean somehow perched on top of his trunk, while having it open and rummaging through it. Harry Potter slid into this madhouse like a hot knife through butter, gracefully dodging Seamus' thrown pants, as he knelt down and opened his trunk. Harry pulled out his books, and traipsed through the mayhem as if nothing was wrong. Truthfully, he'd never seen the like, but he was bound and determined to be a Gryffindor (or at least act like one), and no one else seemed to mind.

Harry found himself on the couch, waiting idly as he waved his wand around. He heard Ron's clattering feet well before he saw the redhead. "Harry!" Ron said, "Let's get to breakfast, before they're out of everything." Ron physically tugged Harry out of his couch (Harry had to suppress his reaction - he wasn't used to roughhousing without bruises attached).

They raced through the halls after an upperclassman (a pretty girl with long legs, who walked a lot faster than they did), winding up entirely turned around before they reached the Great Hall. Harry and Ron got the closest seats to the entrance, and Harry carefully took a bit of breakfast sausage, spooning some eggs onto his plate beside, and then two pancakes. He was utterly unprepared for the feast that Ron seemed to have commandeered - and be shoving into his mouth at the speed of three runaway locomotives. Harry had ... made "friends" with an eating machine. Perhaps that was Ron's given talent (Aunt Petunia had claimed that everyone had one, even if she'd also claimed that Harry's had been troublemaking and Dudley's had been _sweetness_ ). Suppressing a sigh (Harry hadn't wanted the teachers staring at him, and with the sheer quantity of food flying into and around Ron's face, that seemed to be a fast-fading hope), Harry dug into his food, eating carefully so as to not mar his clothing. He'd only gotten the recommended number of robes - although from the look of the Slytherin table, it seemed like Harry had somehow missed getting good robes. Harry couldn't exactly tell precisely why the Slytherins looked better in their robes (it certainly wasn't beauty, one had a face like a pug, and another was a solid girl, stout and built like a man. Harry'd feel sorry for her, but she looked like the kind that didn't take pity well. If he had the chance, he thought, he might like to talk with her some - encourage her). Not here a minute, and Harry was already missing steps.

At the end of breakfast, McGonagall (their Head of Gryffindor House, it turned out) strode down the table with her stern face, handing out schedules. Hermione Granger was nearly jumping for joy. Harry Potter, in contrast, was waiting for the other shoe to drop, trying in vain to suppress nerves - finally settling for not having them show more than a certain stiffness in how he sat. Harry looked at his schedule, and compared it to Ron's, who said, "We'll be in all the same classes together!"

Hermione Granger, ever the punctilious downer, said, "That's because all first years are kept together by House. It's supposed to make it easier to not get lost. We'll have a prefect lead us around for the first week. Didn't you read-?" At that point, Harry tuned her out. As it so happened, he had read Hogwarts a History. However, he didn't feel the need to tell everyone about it at all times. Harry was rather sad to see that Potions was going to be the last class he'd get started on (the schedule had it as a four hour block on Friday, which Harry thought would incline most children towards mistakes. Concentration was hard for children to keep in the best of circumstances, and four hours of fumes wouldn't help.) Of course, there was the small matter of the teacher reading Harry's mind, which was something he desperately wanted to prevent. He'd have to come up with some distraction... something to prevent the teacher from rifling through his thoughts. At least... his private thoughts...

*Ahh, the wonders of adrenaline.

[a/n: No, this won't be a day by day story. But first days are always useful. See Ron oaf. See Harry adjust.

Leave a review?]


	26. Lost in Hogwarts

It was the First Day of Class, and Harry Potter was lost.

It was the Second Day of Class, and Harry Potter was lost.

It was the Third Day of Class, and Harry Potter was scribbling diagrams to help with his direction sense.

It was the Fourth Day of Class, when Harry Potter realized that the entire castle moved - not just the stairs. Harry had to visibly restrain himself to prevent himself from screaming at the top of his lungs. This was impossible, he thought, despite the ample evidence that the Seventh Years had absolutely no trouble finding anything at all. If only I had brought some of my money, he thought, I might be able to hire a student to lead me around like a lost ewe.

It was the Fifth Day of Class, and Harry Potter sat himself, for the first time, at the Gryffindor table without having to plead to someone (even a portrait) for directions. With a trace of a frown, he opened the Potions book again, reading quickly and trying to ignore the Potion Master's eyes resting heavily on him. Harry Potter still hadn't a whit of knowledge as to why the Potions Master seemed to eye him so keenly - it certainly didn't reek of the adulation that even some of the older students were apt to project onto him. In that regard, the Weasley Twins had proved to be quite helpful - as long as he was willing to accept some compensation for testing their joke-toys, they'd continue to provide him with methods of looking completely ridiculous. Best of all, apparently their normal guinea pig was Ron Weasley, so nobody thought anything of it.

And it was, after all, rather hard to think of him as the Gryffindor Savior, the Boy That Lived, when he was flying around as an oversize canary. Hell, he even thought he saw Granger muffling a smile.

Time for Potions, Harry thought, stuffing the last of his food into his mouth as Ron (who was sitting beside) often did. They followed the prefect down the halls (Harry tried to memorize them, jotting quick notes on the palm of his hand). Harry Potter sat near the front (unsurprised to see Hermione Granger sitting beside him, she liked the front whenever and wherever possible), filling the surface of his mind with giant pink elephants and big lipped alligators. They contorted themselves into some sort of aerial dance as Harry pulled out quill and parchment (neither of which he had the hang of yet, but oh well).

The Gryffindors and Slytherins sat on opposite sides, Harry was entirely unsurprised to note.

Harry heard the double doors behind them open with a loud click - and momentarily heard the doors slam against the walls, as Professor Snape strode to the front of the classroom, moving like a swiftly stalking crane - all elbows and lanky grace, with an undercurrent of understated power. He pivoted behind his desk, his eyes raking the classroom, as he started to take roll, first with the Slytherins, and then the Gryffindors. When he got to Harry's name, he paused.

"Ah, yes, Harry Potter, our newest celebrity." Harry Potter looked at him resolutely, as if it was commonplace to be referred to as that. He imagined anatomically improbable sequences of pink Elephants and purple Alligators. Snape's mouth tightened, and his eyes made as if to slit before he recollected himself. Behind them both, Malfoy and his "bodyguards" tittered quietly. Harry Potter, deep within his mind, wished they were as small as titmice, and as fragile. He'd like to wring their necks.*

As Snape finished his roll, he launched into a speech, "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." Harry had to wonder at the word choice - few arts were ever exacting, and science... what type of science did the Wizarding World have, anyway? "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will believe this is scarcely magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins." Harry wondered at that - that level of detail seemed unusual for the wizarding world. "Bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses." Snape stalked the front of the classroom like a mountain lion - in deadly silence. "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, or even put a stopper in death - if you aren't as big a crop of dunderheads as the usual I must teach."

"Potter!" Snape said suddenly, as Harry tried not to jerk. "What would I get if I added powdered asphodel root to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry searched his brain, quickly understanding that he didn't know the answer - and that he'd managed to get through about a third of both the 2nd and 3rd year potions books. Why was he being asked questions he was sure to not know the answer to? Did Snape want to show his ignorance? Humiliate him? Well, Harry knew one thing - it was generally unwise to not play ball when a person in power wanted something. "I don't know." Harry said quietly.

"Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?" Harry blinked at the new question - he remembered this one from the 3rd year book, but didn't feel particularly like mentioning it. Better to stay quiet, and see where Snape was leading with this.

"I do not know." Harry said unapologetically.

"What's the difference between wolfsbane and aconite?" Snape snapped, and Harry Potter was very, very tempted to answer. Hadn't Snape been watching him over breakfast? Wasn't it exactly what was on the first page of the book?

"I think Hermione knows the answer to the question." Harry said at last, "Why don't you ask her?"

"Being a celebrity isn't all that it's cracked up to be, now is it Potter?" Snape said snidely, and Harry Potter fought to think about pink elephants rather than strangling the man in a fit of pique.

[a/n: even a Slytherin Harry Potter has quite the temper. He's just better at holding it in. Leave a note if you like it!]

*no, harry isn't a murderer. fantasy is reasonably healthy behavior.


	27. Uh-oh

"Being a celebrity isn't all that it's cracked up to be, now is it Potter?" Snape said snidely, and Harry Potter fought to think about pink elephants rather than strangling the man in a fit of pique.

Harry stood wordlessly, his green eyes levelly meeting the black pits that were this professor's eyes. Or they would have been levelly meeting them, if Harry wasn't eleven, and the Professor wasn't looming over him. It left Harry with a bit of a crick in his neck, looking up like this, and certainly it didn't bespeak composure. Abruptly, the Professor whirled away in a swirl of black robes.

Snape growled out the answers to his (mostly impossible) questions, his eyes firmly trained on Potter's. Harry hadn't dared glance down.

Snape snapped at the rest of the classroom, "Well? Why aren't you copying that down?!" Harry picked up a pen, and began to write, before belatedly realizing he wasn't actually writing on parchment. Feeling a bit more out of sorts than he usually did, he pulled out a bit of foolscap, and hoped that Snape didn't want to take points for ruining the already blackened desk. The desk reminded him of Chemistry class, and he figured that cauldrons had to mean fire in the first place, so unless the ink was flammable... Pink Elephants! Harry thought, as the potions class progressed. Snape had snapped at them to follow the directions on the board, and Harry tried to, he really did. But inbetween thinking about what Ron was doing beside him (which looked to be a degree of incompetence that Harry wouldn't have chanced even if he was trying to be incompetent, which he hadn't really decided yet...), and thinking about pink elephants - and trying to decipher Snape's spiky handwriting (couldn't he have simply printed it?!), Harry knew he had lost track. Possibly more than once.

As Snape demonstrated proper bottling technique, Harry took the time to look at other people's potions. Draco Malfoy's looked nearly perfect, as did Granger's. Other than that, though, Harry's looked nearly correct in consistency, even if the color was more chartreuse than pine green. Neville's potion actually had chunks floating in it, and Harry thought he didn't know anything that could cause that reaction. Certainly none of the ingredients in the potion.

Snape accepted Malfoy's potion with a drawling, "Well done," but simply scowled at Granger, who looked a bit wilted - Harry heard Lavender saying "He's always like that, don't take it so hard" from out in the corridor as the sound drifted toward him. He was the last person to hand in his potion - less from actually needing the time, than from trying to see what Snape's reactions to the other students were going to be. As twisty as the man seemed, Harry Potter had picked up on his dislike for Gryffindors (the twins hadn't been pulling his leg about that one.)

As Harry passed in his potion, Snape's visage turned to a frown, and he said sternly, "Potter, come with me," as he set the potion down on his desk alongside the others in the rack. Glad that he didn't have another class after this, Harry frowned slightly, wondering what was going on. Snape stood and strode out of the classroom, as Potter hurried to catch up - and then hurried some more, in an awkward almost-trot, almost fast-walk. "Sir, can you please slow down?" Harry Potter wheezed out, and - almost as predicted - Snape sped up. Harry shifted speed, into an easy lope that would, no doubt, leave him redfaced by the time he was - where were they going? They seemed to have climbed out of the dungeons, and be heading higher. A thin line of trepidation started to flow through Harry, left to wonder about where they were going, and exactly how much trouble he was in. His potion hadn't been that bad, had it?

[a/n: anyone got any guesses? Leave a review.]


	28. Sugar Quills, Oh My!

Harry Potter and Professor Snape went up what seemed like a thousand stairs (Harry was certain he had miscounted along the way). Without warning, Prof. Snape slid to a halt, saying - to absolutely no one, "Sugar Quills." Behind him, Harry shot Prof. Snape a muddled glance, and then he saw the gargoyle moving (well, rotating really), as a staircase came into view. "Up you go." Snape said, his voice flat but not unkind.

Harry Potter didn't want to go (he had a deep feeling of dread in his bones), but Hades help him if he made Snape more mad. So up he went - still breathless, yet keeping to that loping pace that he'd needed to keep up with Snape's "fast walk" (Harry Potter spent a moment to be incensed that Snape could keep up that pace and not be at all out of breath).

Harry Potter reached the top of the stair, and nearly jumped as Snape reached over his head to pound the door with a clenched fist. Blimey, but when he wanted, Snape could do quiet. Harry hadn't heard a single footfall as he went up the stairs (and though Harry was running, he had been trying to be quiet, even though he knew he hadn't managed as Snape had done.)

"Come in, Severus." Headmaster Dumbledore boomed, his voice far louder than Snape's pounding on his door. "Who has done what now?" The Headmaster continued (not waiting for Snape to open the door) with what sounded suspiciously like a sigh, "And in the first week of class too..."

Now Harry really didn't want to go in, but he quickly made up his mind that procrastinating was not an option. He opened the door quickly and wide (so that Snape could step through after), as he walked, standing straight and tall, to the nearest chair, and sat down on the edge of the seat.

"Why, Harry Potter. What a surprise!" Albus Dumbledore said with a genial smile that Harry didn't trust one bit. "Lemon drop?"

"Yes, please," Harry Potter said, taking the small object and palming it before he pretended to pop it into his mouth. Into his pocket it went, and he idly wondered what he'd have to do to get a forensic analysis around here.

"And you, Severus?"

"No, Albus, as usual." The well-trodden voice from behind him nearly made Harry Potter spin - less in absolute surprise, and more by a need to be able to see the parties of the conversation. How was he supposed to pick up anything if he couldn't even see? Harry Potter fought the urge back down, telling himself that he needn't look like a ninny simply because Snape had done something slightly unexpected. Judging by the sound, Snape had taken up residence in the back corner of the room. Harry still wished he could see.

"Now, what seems to be the issue?" Albus Dumbledore said, his geniality taking a temporary backseat to an intense curiosity. Harry Potter would definitely have rather the Headmaster looked like this more often - it seemed, if not more honest, at least less deliberately opaque. A man that was deliberately opaque was definitely hiding something - Harry should know, as he was one himself.

"Tell this unreasonable whelp that I have more important things to do during class than peek into hormonal adolescent minds." Snape snapped.

 _Shite._ Harry thought, his mind going blank - as in literally white. _He noticed._

The Headmaster repeated Snape's words word for word, in a rather different tone, "My child, I do assure you that Severus Snape does not spend his time in the classroom looking through young minds under his care. Above and beyond the fact that such conduct is expressly illegal and a grave crime, I assure you I would not have hired anyone who would so disregard a child's privacy, without any reason at all." Harry Potter blinked, deciding that he didn't like that twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes. Not one bit.

The Headmaster's piercing eyes caught Severus Snape's in their talons, "Is there some specific reason Mr. Potter needed to be told this?"

Harry Potter caught the distinct sound of robes rustling, as Snape said snottily, "He has been shouting. Something about pink elephants and purple crocodiles. Tomfoolery, no doubt, but I will not be distracted in my own class."

The Headmaster nodded gravely, saying simply, "You're right of course, that you shouldn't be distracted. Potions class is too dangerous to have the skilled practitioner inattentive." The Headmaster turned his attention to Harry Potter, saying, "You will cease this behavior at once, I trust?"

Harry Potter looked up, and said firmly, "Yes, sir."

"Headmaster," Prof. Snape said coldly, "He'll be serving two detentions for his insolence." _That was one way to put it. I wouldn't have done it if I had known he'd pick up on it!_

The Headmaster blinked, and said, "Surely that's a little much, Severus? I'm certain that he wasn't trying to distract you."

"You may be, Albus, but I am not. The detention stands. Unless you would like to overrule me without Potter's Head of House present?" Snape snapped.

"Naturally not," the headmaster said, "I am well aware that the forms stand for a reason, as are you. This is neither so severe, nor so time-pressing as to bend the rules to the point of breaking."

There was a pause, and Harry Potter mentally filled in Snape nodding in agreement, as he figured that Snape was the type to speak up if he felt something was wrong or out of sorts.

"Still, though... shouting, at his age..." the Headmaster said contemplatively. Harry sat as still as stone, suddenly wondering exactly how remarkable what he had done was. He really needed to know what he was doing! (well, that and _stop doing it_ ).

"Headmaster, you can't possibly think that he's showing a talent for Occulumency. At his age?" Snape scoffed. "And a Potter to boot? I'll eat my own boot if you manage to find a Potter that can even be taught that discipline."

The headmaster had an amused look on his face, as if Snape's bitterness was a well-known tonic, good for clearing the nose and lungs. "I was thinking rather the opposite, really. It has been some time since we've had a natural legimens at Hogwarts."

"Headmaster Dumbledore! Have you quite taken leave of your senses? It was pink elephants and purple crocadiles!" Snape said, and Harry was pretty sure he heard Snape's fists clenching. Harry hoped the man's fingernails weren't drawing blood.

"Exactly, Professor Snape." Dumbledore smiled genially, saying, "Don't you find it fascinating that you could read what he was saying with such precision? Particularly when you weren't trying?"

Shite, shite, shite, Harry thought, shifting in his chair. He wanted out of here, didn't want to be in the middle of these two men, and especially didn't want any of this to have come to light. It would perfectly serve me right, Harry thought, if they did figure out I was supposed to be in Slytherin. I didn't do any sort of research; I just did exactly as I pleased. Some days, I think I deserve to be in Gryffindor.

Professor Snape muttered something uncomplimentary (and in language that Harry Potter was quite certain he didn't normally use around students.)

"If that is all?" Dumbledore said, waving his hands airly, "You are dismissed."

Harry didn't exactly want to tag along after Professor Snape, but since it was lunch next, and he still couldn't navigate worth anything, he wound up following (again at that lope) Snape along the corridors. Apparently Snape didn't dislike him enough to ditch him at a flat run (which Harry was well aware he could have), but neither did Snape want to do the decent thing and slow down so that Harry could keep up. Perhaps he was just thinking about something, and didn't want to encourage daft, adolescent questions.

[a/n: erm. Harry? Earth to Harry? Trying to be unexceptional isn't thinking so loudly you put your teacher's teeth on edge. Really, it's _not_.

Leave a review.

Snape would not ordinarily have gotten the Headmaster involved in a matter of discipline, but he really doesn't need the distraction, and figured that getting confirmation from his employer was more likely to work than giving his own word to a Gryffindor.]


	29. A voice by my ear

Snape swooped into the Great Hall like a dungeon bat (which was a quite ridiculous nickname, Harry thought), his robes swooshing around him. Without sparing a look to either side, he strode up to the High Table - the Headmaster was already there, Harry saw. As Harry proceeded at a level walk (he didn't want to seem too upset, or too much in a hurry), he heard a voice purring in his ear - which, as no one was actually there, was nearly enough to make him scream, whirl, and try to deck whomever was in his _personal space_. Harry was so occupied in not flinching that he hadn't actually listened to what was said. He took a deep breath, and then another, mentally replaying it as he did:

"Potter," Snape said in his characteristic smooth voice, "If anyone asks about the detentions, make something up and stick with it."

Harry Potter nodded slowly, turning the assent into part of his sitting at the table.

"Oi! What'd old man Snape want?" Ron asked, still stuffing his face full of food.

"Nothing much, only I talked back to him, and so I've got detention." Harry Potter said, letting the affability of the Weasel wash over Harry himself, mentally pulling it in so he could harness it.

"Rotten luck, mate." Ron said, still eating pancakes, although it was certainly not breakfast. Ron Weasley was disgusting, Harry Potter thought somewhat apathetically, _Why couldn't I have picked a better Gryffindor?_

Looking down the table, Harry saw his other yearmates. Dean and Shamus were already fast friends (and though they were less repulsive than Weasel, they seemed like... it would be interrupting if Harry clung to them like the lifesaver he needed). Nevile was, well, at least he hadn't blown his potion up. He didn't seem confident enough to be a Gryffindor, and the other boys seemed to be treating him like so. It wasn't that he was being bullied, exactly, but they definitely kept a distance, as if afraid that cowardice was catching.

Harry Potter knew far more about cowardice, and the particular variant of bravery that it tends to spawn, than anyone expected. As if he hadn't just been wallowing in his thoughts, he turned to Ron Weasley and asked, "What'd I miss?" The rest of the meal descended into a discussion of Quiddich that Harry definitely didn't follow, but watching everyone so lively (even Neville and a few of the girls were chiming in) was passing fun. Nobody seemed to mind that Harry simply listened avidly, which was nice. Harry'd not like making a fool of himself in front of everyone, after all.

[a/n: Snape likes his practical jokes same as the next person. His may be a little more... hard-edged than some. Ce la vie.

Write a review, up next: more Ron! Yes, I know, but it has to be done. Does anyone like Ron?]


	30. The Green Monster

Harry Potter was sitting by Ron, idly paging through a book he was pretending not to read (and actually skimming and reindexing halfheartedly). Most of his attention was on Ron, who had challenged Oliver Wood to a Chess Match, nevermind that Oliver was far older than he. The pieces, Harry had found, were quite distracting with their opinions. However, Ron and Oliver were both skilled players, and so that didn't really matter much to them. They weren't really paying attention, mired in their own views of the chessboard. Harry, were he playing, would have done better to watch Ron, and calibrate his moves by the amount of alarm in Ron's face. He wasn't a very good chess player, after all, and reading people was loads easier*.

From what Harry did know about chess, he could see that Ron was getting his pieces herded into a corner. It didn't look like a good place to be. In fact, Harry knew it was a very bad place to be, because Ron's face was steadily turning purple. It had gotten worse since Oliver had started to say Check every few moves. Harry was concentrating on figuring out why Ron was so upset - he was playing someone older, and obviously more skilled than he.

"Checkmate" Oliver said with a hearty smile, and Ron Weasley lunged at him, completely toppling the board, and trying to land haymakers, which, typical of the name, weren't hitting at all. George and Fred showed up within seconds (Harry had suspected they were watching just for this, and their skilled removal of their berserk younger brother showed a time-practiced skill.) George and Fred stunned their brother, dragging him upstairs by the shoulders, and were down again within five minutes. That also spoke to time-honed skills.

"What was that about?" Harry asked curiously.

"Oh, never you mind Ronnikins, he gets jealous easy." George and Fred said, their voices comingling the words.

"Of Oliver Wood?" Harry asked, trying to fit this into his understanding of the young redhead. Harry was used to jealousy of course - Dudley was prone to it. That was a more materialistic jealousy, however...

"Yeah, because he could beat our little brother so easily." Fred and George said, "Better be careful, or he'll bite you himself."

Harry nodded absentmindedly, thinking that he owed these two more than he'd given back so far. Oh, well, another week of being lab rat wouldn't kill him. And they'd mentioned something very critical, too. Harry Potter needed to be no more exceptional than Ron Weasley, if he wanted to keep the boy as a ... comrade. He wouldn't dignify the boy with the word friend. But he was so very useful at convincing everyone of how Gryffindor Harry Potter was - certainly no one would look at him like they did Neville. And mimicking Ron would get Harry even more 'Gryffindor Points.' And no matter how stupid, or silly, they seemed, they might prove absolutely necessary. Harry hadn't forgotten for a minute that his life was in danger here. Besides, there were benefits to being seen to be unexceptional. Benefits to being the snake in the grass. Inwardly, Harry Potter grew a stony cold smile that the Gryffindors around him wouldn't have recognized. He could do this. He _would_ do it.

*Sigh. Slytherins.

[Leave a review! Yes, I know, Ron is a drag, but still... Harry is trying So Hard to be a Gryffindor! Give him props!]


	31. Detention

Harry Potter now had two things that he needed to learn, and as quickly as possible. Occulumency and Legimency. To find out about these rare arts, he would have to face the dreaded Library, home of fierce books and snappy librarians. Harry Potter was actually looking forward to it, although he realized that he'd have to be at the library at the crack of dawn, to have a hope to find the books he needed and be back abed to be woken by Ron (who actually thought Harry slept late often).

* * *

The library, Harry soon discovered, was full of books on all sorts of fascinating subjects. However, he didn't see much method or organization to the whole thing, so he turned to the librarian, whose nametag proclaimed her Madame Pince. "Excuse me," Harry Potter said, letting his eyes go big and round, "I am having trouble finding some books..."

Madame Pince looked down her nose at him, "And why is that, young man?"

"Erm." Harry Potter said, doing his best Ron Is TongueTied impression, "Because I'm new here, and you haven't given me any instruction?"

Madame Pince said, "Indeed. And why do you think I ought to give you instruction?"

"Because otherwise I'll just be always asking you where the books are." Harry Potter said promptly - in a hopefully Gryffindor level of promptness.

"Expect to need so many, do we now, lad?" Madame Pince said, relaxing slightly, "Most boys just read their schoolbooks, and never set foot in the library."

"I've never been like most boys," Harry Potter said gently, "And I don't plan to start now." he rapped out.

"What are you looking for, then?"

"First, some organization. Where can I find things in general." Harry Potter said, and then thought for a moment, "And where the books on Occulumency and Legimency are."

Madame Pince nearly dropped her glasses, she was so startled. "Those are rare books, and not ones that a first year has ever asked for. You'll need a permission slip to even catch sight of one, no doubt."

"Who gives those out?" Harry Potter asked, hoping quickly that it was her, and not the Headmaster.

"Your teachers, of course." Madame Pince said, "Provided you can impress one of them."

Harry Potter felt like cursing, and - a discrete distance from the library, as he ascended to Gryff Tower, he began to curse silently and fluently, in as many colors and languages as he could think of. Unremarkable Harry Potter hadn't a hope in hell of getting a teacher to give a permission slip.

* * *

It was Tuesday, and Harry Potter was in a good mood. This would have surprised most people around him, certainly, as he had just finished his classes, and he was heading down to detention with the most disliked professor in the school. Harry was in a good mood because he felt like he had been managing to fit in. To do just enough in class, and to copy homework (mostly styling) from Ron Weasley. Well, it appeared that Ron didn't do homework except in a slapdash fashion the night before. Harry Potter was certain that if he applied himself, he could learn this style (and half fail the courses at the same time, but so long as he wasn't actually failing, he'd worry about that later. Fitting in was important, after all, and being unremarkable and indistinguishable was even better).

Harry Potter wondered exactly what detention would mean. Most teachers, after all, seemed to simply take points off kids if they didn't like how they were doing, trusting to their peers disapproval to provide better guidance than mere detention.

Harry Potter arrived a split second after when he was supposed to be at detention, rapping quickly on the door. "Enter," Snape's gloomy voice said coldly from inside. Harry Potter was inside in an instant, shutting the door carefully behind him, while keeping his eyes on the professor at all times.

"Potter, you're late." Snape said unnecessarily, "The pots are in the sink at the back of the classroom. Get scrubbing." Snape said, his head still bent over the parchment. From the red ink he was wielding, Potter thought that it was probably homework markings.

Remembering Aunt Petunia's pots, from the few times she had cooked, Harry Potter got to work, scrubbing each pot firmly and methodically. He didn't want this detention to be over with, so much as he just wanted it to be done well. These pots were full of noxious, sticky chemicals (Harry supposed that was why they were for detention, and not regular cleaning. Come to think of it, he'd never cleaned a cauldron in class - did Snape clean all the cauldrons himself? A quick glance forward showed the man's skinny arms - if so, he must naturally be a rail!). Harry Potter spent the scrubbing time thinking about the theory of Charms - he had been lucky enough to find the second year book this morning, and had busied himself cramming the material in between the first year book (which he knew thoroughly) and the third year book, which he had skimmed three times (apparently the twins were prone to forgetting their books, as they often shared and shared alike).

It seemed only minutes later (Harry Potter knew it was later, the amount of red ink gone was an indicator of that) when Harry Potter finished the last of the cauldrons. He methodically looked at each one over again - he didn't want to be called out in case he'd missed a spot. Harry Potter approached the front of the room, standing at the teacher's desk, and waiting for Snape to noticed him.

Minutes passed, and Harry Potter concluded that if he didn't say something, Snape wasn't going to notice him. Feeling a bit silly at the wait, Harry Potter cleared his throat. "Yes, Potter?" Snape drawled. "Having a bit of a problem with the work, Potter?" Harry could hear something dark, and sinuous in Snape's voice.

"You could say that sir," Harry Potter said, fighting back a smile, "I'm done with the pots, sir."

Severus Snape's head snapped up, as he looked Harry Potter straight in the eyes.

[a/n: Next chapter we're switching to Snape's view. Briefly.

Leave a review, folks!]


	32. Snape Eye View

Snape looked up at those bright green eyes, as ever looking quite odd in a scanty boy's face. Standing, he strode over to the cauldrons, meaning to see what sort of trick or deception Potter had decided to pull _this_ time. His gaze got darker the farther he got into inspecting the cauldrons. His first pass, he simply checked to see if the boy had forgotten one or two. On his second pass, however, Snape merely wanted to find some mistake, no matter how insignificant, - to send the boy back to work.

Students _never_ finished the cauldrons. That, as ever, wasn't the point of detention. Snape had, through long years of study attained a system of categorization. Your average spoiled pureblood girl would be lucky to finish one cauldron in three hours, whereas her male counterpart might bestir himself to do as many as three. A halfblood, no doubt unused to house elves, would probably make it through about a third of the cauldrons. A Muggleborn? Used to dishes, many of them would do well to pull off half the cauldrons, and call it a night.

Potter had finished the entire lot, in an hour. Snape thought quickly, a dark scowl tarring his face. He couldn't... wouldn't... keep Potter with absolutely nothing to do. And the boy was too young to be trusted to chop ingredients.

Snape idly noted that Potter hadn't so much as moved an inch, while Snape had conducted his inspection - nor afterwards, when even the best child was prone to fidgeting (undoubtedly finding something that they could have improved). Snape looked down his long nose at the boy and said, "You are dismissed. You may make up the rest of your detention on Wednesday and Sunday. Do not shirk your homework, as my detentions take precedence." Yes, Snape thought, this will do quite nicely. Three times the work, for a single detention, and less wasting of my time to boot. Besides, half the Hufflepuffs could be counted on to scotch the Shrinking Solution - thus ensuring a supply of nearly ruined cauldrons for said detention.

"Yes, sir." Potter said in a perfect politeness that young Draco hadn't managed despite years of teaching. Snape chalked Potter up as yet another bully that needed an audience to really get going - Lupin had been like that, all nicety polite except when his friends surrounded him, and then just as vicious as the rest of them. No matter, Snape was not going to suffer another Potter's cheek. Not as long as he stood as Potions Master and Professor. He had a duty to the school as a whole, in fact.

[a/n: Snape's quite good at self-justification. You've noticed?

I do quite like reviews!]


	33. Exactly how stupid he was

Harry Potter didn't need to be told twice that he was dismissed, he was out the door and halfway down the hall before Snape could say another word. He darted between two hulking boys (was that Crabbe and Goyle?), and was up to Gryffindor Tower lickety split. Entering the Common Room, the Weasley twins descended upon him.

"Oi! I thought"

"You had detention."

"I did," Potter responded.

"Back a bit early, mate," one twin said,

"What'd you do?" the other said.

Harry shrugged, and said, "Nuffin much."

"Liar. That's Snape you had detention with."

"Yeah, so?" Harry responded.

"So he'd not let you go without a good reason."

"Yeah, he hates Gryffindors." the other twin responded.

Neville, looking up, said, "I don't think he likes you very much, either."

Ron piped up saying, "He's got it in for you, Harry."

The twins continued, "So it doesn't make sense that you didn't do anything to get detention canceled."

"Oh," Harry said, shrugging, "It's not canceled. Just rescheduled."

"Well, that makes more sense." Ron said, while his twin brothers asked, "Who died?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Nobody. I just finished the pots."

The twins mouths dropped open, as they exchanged a look, "You - you finished the Towering, Nearly Toppling Pile of Cauldrons?"

"Yeah?" Harry asked, a bit confused, "Is there something -" And Harry paused, finally working out from their faces just exactly how stupid he had been. With a sigh, he looked down at his feet, cursing to himself, before looking up again. "Nobody's finished them before, have they?" Harry asked with a sigh.

"Not that we know of." one twin said.

"And we've had detention more than anybody."

"Charlie woulda said something, if someone had -"

"His words were that it was our fault we were sentenced to the interminable pile of uncleanable cauldrons."

"Oi! That wasn't Charlie that was Percy." the other twin said.

Ron piped up, "Yeah, Charlie wouldn't know inter-nable if it jumped him." Harry stiffled a laugh at Ron's obvious inability to pronounce the word. Across the room, he saw Granger doing the same thing. Hmm... Granger, he thought, I bet she could get into the restricted section...

Later, Harry thought to himself. For now, he thought as he flopped on the couch next to Ron, I am going to curse exactly how much of a confounded fool i've been. Who got the idea to finish all the cauldrons? What was I trying to do - Impress Snape? That seemed unlikely even at the best of times, and scrubbing cauldrons well wouldn't impress, well, anyone except perhaps my Aunt. Harry still wasn't sure he quite believed that she hadn't meant him ill, like her husband and son clearly had. Even with the 'accidentally' busted chips, and broken bread that she had shoved in his face (Harry was never allowed to eat what everyone else was eating - just the broken things).

[a/n: The predictably Slytherin solution to 'how do I get a permission slip?'

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	34. The slick way

Wednesday was Charms and Transfiguration - ordinarily, Harry Potter liked the second class. McGonagall was a terror with claws, but she generally kept them sheathed unless you did something truly objectionable. An old battleaxe, Harry's Uncle Vernon would have said. Only, he wouldn't necessarily meant it as a compliment. Harry rather enjoyed the old woman (her hair was still mostly ungray, despite being pulled back into the world's fiercest bun. Harry idly wondered if it might like to eat something once in a while, before deciding he was working too much on transfiguration outside of class). It wasn't for the teacher that Harry liked Transfiguration - it was that he actually got to have fun, be creative, and learn things.

His assignments to himself were never what the Professor assigned, of course. He was still doing his best to be a little better than Ron Weasley. Harry figured he could manage to be a C student, maybe occasionally edging into a B, without gathering undue notice from people that it was better for all if they ignored him. Harry Potter thought to himself, _If only I could make the hero-worshippers go away so easily_.

The Professor's assignment was difficult - turning a needle into a match. If done properly, the struck match would actually burn. Not that anyone was actually going to be allowed to do that - since needles didn't normally burn. Harry Potter's project was turning a needle into a minature sword. Not a cocktail sword of plastic provenance, but a real sword - with sharp edges. Harry rather liked the practical nature of his assignment.

Blissfully ignored in the back of the classroom, Harry Potter looked at all the other students as he transfigured the needle. Neville still seemed to be dumbfounded by even the idea of transfiguration. Ron and Shamus were goofing off with each other, while Dean, brow creased, was busy trying to make even the slightest change. Parvati and Lavender looked like they couldn't care less how well they did at school - busy giggling at each other rather than working. It appeared that only Hermione Granger took the project, or class, at all seriously.

Still, as the Slytherin often said, "Appearances can be deceiving."

* * *

On his way down to detention, Harry Potter found a familiar itch on his back... Face dully expressionless (Did the Slytherins really have to affect the pose so grandiously?), Harry continued on as if he didn't know that someone was quietly, nearly invisibly watching him. Oh, sure, Harry wanted to round on them, to spy them out - if only to sate his own native curiousity. Still, that was the quickest, surest way to provoke someone, so he stilled his need to discover, and carried on as if there wasn't a problem. Inwardly, he felt himself relaxing and he found himself wondering why.

As he came to the Potion Master's great door, it came to him - he had been expecting the other shoe to fall. Now that it had, this felt a lot more like home.

"Enter" Potions Master Snape said to Harry, who entered with a quiet, firm, "Yes sir." That was the last word that Snape said to Harry, as a quick nod at the pile of cauldrons at the back of the classroom sent Harry scurrying to get started. He had thought through what he had done, and decided that if he had already shown a curious aptitude for cleaning cauldrons, it was better to keep it up, rather than be accused of cheating or slacking. Harry had noticed the suppressed malevolence in Snape's eyes, and he didn't for a moment doubt Snape would accuse him of both if he proved himself dissolute.

After the detention (Snape let him out early, _again_ , though there were no additional detentions added on, which Harry Potter found remarkably reassuring. Apparently Snape believed that time spent in detention was the thing, not how many cauldrons Harry cleaned. This was a far cry from Snape thinking that Harry was insulting his detention, or otherwise doing enough that Snape was warranted (even if only in his own mind) of assigning a nigh infinite number of detentions), Harry walked smoothly through the dungeons, heading for the nearest stair to find the light of the first floor. Before he reached there, he felt the itchy feeling on the back of his neck again. Reacting by instinct, he slipped between two suits of metal armor, neatly dodging a red ray of a spell (what _was_ that?) thrown at where he had just been standing.

Now, Harry was confident that thanks to Dudley, he could take a beating just as good as most boys. However, that didn't mean he wouldn't avoid them if possible. Choosing blindly, Harry ducked out of the crevice in a squat, bolting past an alcove and dodging into a different corridor. Grabbing up a stone, he threw it so it would bounce and bounce and bounce again, before sliding into an alcove.

True to form, the - _was that a **fourth** year?_ \- boy ran by, and Harry marked him. He had a face at least, if not a name. For now, it was enough.

[a/n: Harry Potter, everyone! Sorry for the weird grammar in the last line - that's Harry's mind tangenting in midthought.

Leave a review if you like.]


	35. Shackles

Cold, dead eyes watched keenly the dance of spells and feet, as Harry Potter fled from the dungeons, through the dungeons, deep into the depths of the castle, and through a secret door winding up blinking at the light of the first floor, near the dancing hall. The deathless had a curious freedom - the ability to pass through walls, to look even at those in particular places of hiding. And, as a Slytherin, the Bloody Baron knew of many secrets, including how to be not quite visible, despite being an inherently glowing entity. A sliver of moonlight, a peek of an eye (the rest of his face inside an object), and he had the names he sought.

As out of a nightmare, he glided through the dark dungeons of Hogwarts, where sleeping Slytherins lie.

In the dark of the night, only one candle lay burning. The Bloody Baron entered without announcing himself, knowing that the tall, darkclad man would notice his presence anyway... eventually. The Bloody Baron's lips curled into a bloodless smile as Professor Snape stiffened, acknowledging his presence.

The Baron said only one word, "Flint." He would hold his knowledge of the young scamp tightly, as was a Slytherin's wont. If the Head of Slytherin House wanted to learn more about the boy, well, he would have to look himself. Or bestir himself to ask for it. After all, Slytherins did not share their secrets for free - and knowledge was the greatest secret of all.

[a/n: What, you thought Snape was giving Potter detentions _for fun_? He has _better_ things to do with his time! Leave a review.]


	36. Five Stories of Planning

It was five stories up, Harry Potter thought - five stories to hatch a plan. Having shut the secret door to the dungeons, and taken the moment to make sure he wouldn't be blind enough to stumble over his own feet, Harry took off at a run. The long way, naturally.

Because if there was one thing that Harry Potter knew quite intimately, it was _There is never only one_.

Not that he expected to see another bully today, per se. Bullies were herd beasts, liked to congregate together. So Harry knew that he had...

Until Tomorrow.

Dammit. Harry thought crossly. I've another detention tomorrow. Well, slow-in-the-head fools won't catch me napping. Harry continued up the stairs, only slowing as he reached the fifth floor, wanting to arrive not out of breath. He had the inklings of a plan, and the time was growing near to execute it.

But first...

Harry Potter entered the Gryffindor common room, only to hear Percy Weasley ask officiously, "I thought you had detention with Snape, young man?"

"I did," Harry Potter responded with a warm smile he didn't feel, "Only I've finished the pots, so he let me go early. Seems he doesn't want me sitting down there with nothing to do."

Percy eyed Harry skeptically, before nodding, with a look in his eye which seemed to suggest that he'd confirm this with Snape Himself if there was any plausible way to do it.

Meanwhile, Harry glanced at the room, settling in beside Ron and Neville to cheer on the game of chess. Harry hadn't half learned the rules yet, so he wouldn't let himself even pretend to play, as he might accidentally beat Ron (who, for all his faults, wasn't much of a cheater).

* * *

Later that night, after the other first years had gone to bed, Harry Potter snuck down stairs, only to get an Education. You see, before this, Harry hadn't any real idea what that meant. Certainly his aunt and uncle weren't intimate often, and never in children's view. So it came as much of a shock to see the Common Room with half-drunken third years (and a few fourth years) busy undoing each other's clothes, and snogging each other's daylights out. Harry just stood there, watching, until it looked like some of them were about to move - then, with quiet feet, he snuck himself back up to his room, to think on what he'd seen. Well, that was the clean version, anyway, his groin it appeared had other ideas...

[a/n: Boys. Young boys. Also, as you can see, there are plenty of distractions for our young hero. Write a review?]


	37. Again into the Abyss

It was later, now, Harry thought, as he came down the stairs again. He was relieved that no one had seen him the first time, and even more relieved that nobody was here the second.

Coming at him one at at a time had been their first mistake. It wouldn't be their last, Harry knew.

Because their second mistake had been leaving him alive and kicking.

Harry Potter was out of the Common Room quick as a wink. Days of listening to the twins had taught him who to be wary of, late at night - and their likely hiding places.

So, this was how Harry found himself going up, not down. For he had a bit of a mission, and a few crunchy bugs as a bribe. "Could you please provide a distraction, if I need it? I have a mission of utmost urgency." Harry Potter found himself asking a portrait of a knight (who had full plate that klinked and a lance too). Sir Galahad the writing below the portrait proclaimed him, and Harry carefully didn't scoff at the brash claim.

"What mission sends a child too young to be esquired out this late at night?" The man's voice rapped out like a drill sergeant's, though there was a flowing quality in it, almost melodious.

"Only research. Scouting the lay of the land if you will." Harry Potter said promptly. The twins had said to be direct.

"Very well, for your courtesy in the asking, you will have my assistance, should the need arise."

"A favor for your time." Harry Potter said smoothly, passing the portrait a small drawing of oranges.

"Ah! I knew you for a knight, in heart if not in vow. Keep chivalry strong in your heart, and you'll say the vows soon enough." The knight grinned broadly, "You'd best be off."

Harry Potter nodded silently, and strode off as quickly as he could manage, his footsteps silent as a matter of habit. Chivalry! Of all the labels Harry Potter had been labeled, that one seemed to chafe, like a bandaid starting to peel, as the scar beneath itched and begged to be pulled off.

Down. One staircase, and then a second, Harry went down. Towards the dungeons, towards the places where fools wished to scrap with Harry Potter.

Harry didn't know all that much about fighting, he thought consideringly. Of course, knowing muggle fistcuffs would be worse than useless, around here. And, from the 5th year textbook he'd nicked, it was rather difficult to learn shielding spells when he was this young. Not that it would stop him from succeeding. It just wouldn't be ready before his next detention.

Which was _tomorrow_.

Harry did, however, know a hundred different ways to run. And being small, and slender, and able to dodge the worst of the spells would come in handy. But, to really succeed - even in such a small way as to not get hurt, Harry Potter had to know the lay of the land. And that meant learning every nook and cranny of the dungeons.

They weren't dank, merely dark, and kind of gloomy, in a way. Harry Potter was glad that he wasn't living down here, but he felt that if he had to live down here, that it wouldn't have been intolerable. Which, he guessed, was kind of the point. Just another way to rub salt in the "Slytherins Unwelcome" vibe that they were nourishing around here.

Or, you never knew, Snape might have requested it. As choleric as the man seemed in class, a pervasive sense of gloom clung to the man. Harry Potter found himself curious, almost despite himself.

Left. Right, long corridor. Short corridor, dead end. Harry Potter was busy mapping the whole thing out in his head. At the end of his perambulations, Harry Potter finally figured out what he was missing. It was one thing to know how to go, how to find places that nobody went, places that had bends and empty doorways and good vantage points.

It was another to know the quickest way out. Harry Potter tried to remember where the exit upward was, retracing his steps. Nodding, eventually, as five false starts later, he had managed to reach the exit.

He promptly turned the other way, and found each turn to make himself as lost as possible, as far away from the exit as he could.

Harry Potter closed his eyes, sending his awareness back to his closet, back to the darkness as his breathing steadied. He opened his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and began to sing, in a clear soprano that echoed down the halls.

 _By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes_  
 _Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond_  
 _Me and my true love were ever wont to gae_  
 _On the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond_

 _Ye'll tak' the high road and I'll tak the low road_  
 _And I'll be in Scotland afore ye_  
 _But me and my true love will never meet again_  
 _On the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond_

Harry Potter kept singing, even as he heard the muffled thumps of - yes, that was Professor Snape's gloomy visage appearing from about a corner. Still singing, Harry nearly smiled, as Snape snarled at him, before the professor wrenched his wand out of his pocket, sending a silencing spell at the foolish boy.

The quickest way out was easily found at Snape's heel (Snape had Potter's upper arm in a vise grip, as he slowly snarled threats for daring to wake him in such a flagrant manner. Harry Potter was saved from needing to answer by Snape's own silencing spell). Harry Potter wasn't listening carefully, as he was working hard to memorize the quick way out. Not, he thought, that he'd be likely to use it himself. Surely all the Slytherins knew it, and used it regularly.

"It's a good thing your voice isn't as dire as your father's, or I'd be more strongly considering feeding you to Filch's cat. Always has a big appetite, that one" Snape hissed at Potter, as they approached the Fat Lady. Harry controlled the urge to stare, _Snape_ knew my father?! Harry Potter blinked, and then remembered that Dumbledore had said that both his parents had gone to Hogwarts. Snape was... of an age to have been in classes with them, Harry determined. Not that he'd have thought of that before.

Harry wasn't exactly surprised when Snape snarled at the Fat Lady, saying "Open up, and be quick about it."

She opened quietly, and Harry was more flung than escorted inside (Snape staying outside).

"Never Again." Snape spat at him, and then - eyes narrowing - he said, "Not a word of this, to anyone."

And now that was curious, Harry thought, as he started to work on his mental map, drawing it down onto paper. _Why_ would Snape _care_ so, that he'd escorted Potter back to his tower?

[a/n: Write a review? What's Snape up to? What, exactly, is Harry doing?]


	38. A clink and a clatter

Harry spent the better part of the next day working through a spell that the Twins had attempted to teach him (he hadn't told them the reason - even if they were the least likely Gryffs to start a full-scale war, it was still best not to push his luck). It was a spell for throwing your voice, and Harry Potter was in the mood to try it out later tonight. Well, if he could get it working, which was looking increasingly less likely. He muttered the spell to himself, and sent the sickly purple light blasting down the hall, where it stuck to a vambrace. Tentatively, he tried whispering something. Nobody seemed to notice, as a horde of Hufflepuffs tromped by.

Later, he thought, turning swiftly and descending the stairs towards the Charms classroom. Flitwick would probably not care if Harry was late, but he didn't want a reputation for being unkempt and untimely. He wanted a reputation as being a middling student who was moderately (though not excessively) diligent. The sort that no one would look at and say, "he wasn't trying hard enough." Harry Potter could push himself, thank you kindly, he just wasn't as interested as Granger was in grades. He'd know, one way or the other (he thought of the Slytherin students), whether he was in need of some more acceleration. Seeing the Charms classroom door start to shut, he put on some speed, reaching it and sliding inside just seconds before it signaled the start of class. Flitwick was clever like that.

* * *

Detention was quiet, Harry Potter thought, as he industriously got to work. Only five cauldrons this time, though Snape had only muttered, "Fifth years." Harry wondered if he could figure out a quicker way to clean the pots if he knew what was spilt in them, but then, after an eyeblink, decided that if cleaning was so easy, Snape would probably be doing it himself, and giving the students a different detention. Scrubbing was almost hypnotic, Harry thought, and though it wasn't his favorite activity, scrubbing long enough that the silverware would sparkle had been one of the better chores, truth be told.

Harry Potter was dismissed from the Potions Classroom early, again - Snape had not looked up, had not even seemed to acknowledge him. Apparently, Snape was satisfied that Harry Potter would work diligently at least. More likely, he was simply likely to terrorize Potter if his work hadn't been up to snuff. Asking to leave early was a privilege for those who worked with a will. Taking advantage of that would get you more detentions, from a strict chap like Snape, Harry was dead certain.

* * *

Harry Potter held his breath quietly, as he left, listening as he walked as softly as he could (which was without sound, on these cold stone floors). He heard the rustling, from two of the side corridors, and he bolted, straight ahead - right into the paths of their wands. And, an eyeblink later, right out of their paths. He heard shouts and angry hollers from both corridors, but he didn't take time to take stock. Instead, he turned right, quickly topping two suits of armor, hearing the pounding of unschooled feet behind him. Harry's feet landed with the quick grace of someone whose speed doesn't come at the expense of his quietude.

Around the dungeon he raced, toppling things with a clatter - and if a portrait or two decided to holler? Well, so much the better, Harry had thought.

Harry knew exactly where he was going. He was just going... the long way. Which both kept the Slytherins (he had marked two more this time) offbalance, and improved the odds of - _that_.

There was a loud boom, as the doors to the Potions Classroom slammed open. "Racing in the corridors, boys..." Snape drawled.

Harry froze into a nook in the wall, hoping that his dark clothes would hide him.

"You do realize that you're expected to clean up this mess?" Snape continued, and Harry tried to sketch exactly what he looked like in his mind.

Harry could almost hear the smile in Snape's voice, " _Without_ magic, of course." Snape wasn't even looking for reasons for the fracas. He had simply given punishment, and then gone back to work.

As the three Slytherins worked at putting up the armors, Harry Potter left as silently as he dared. There were benefits to strictness, if you only knew how to turn it right. With luck, the Slytherins would be too ... to actually ask for their wands back, before the end of the night. Perhaps the twins could help him with that... Harry Potter shook his head, firmly. No, I'm going to do this myself. Even if it takes longer, it's the wiser course.

[a/n: Juuust another day at Hogwarts. Leave a review if you want more.]


	39. But first Broomsticks!

Harry Potter had decided, from the first day he had been in the wizarding world, that it was horribly old and antiquated. Seriously, Robes?! I mean, as common wear that was one thing, but the girls looked like they'd DIE if they ever had to ride astride! It was positively ridiculous.

In yet another form of antediluvian torture*, Harry Potter and the rest of the classes (the entire first year, in fact) were going to be riding broomsticks. Now, don't get me wrong, I wouldn't have minded this, if it was at all practical. But unless you took to leaving your keys thirty feet above your head (and out on the ledge too, riding inside was both stupid and dangerous), it really wasn't practical. There were dozens of magical means of transport, and this one required use of both hands**, which made it more ridiculous than even a flying carpet. That would take freight, at least.

So, this was a class that Harry Potter did not want to take. At least it was only going to be Thursday afternoons (although their class schedule was so wild that Harry was sure Dumbledore just used darts. Potions with the Slytherins _And_ the Gryffindors was more madness than even the Headmaster ought to throw their way).

Still, Ron Weasley seemed excited, and from the excited babble (Harry only responded halfheartedly to keep the lad talking), Harry gleaned that most wizarding boys (at least, maybe the girls, but Ron didn't have older sisters...) had already sat a training broom. Now, though, here was the important part (at least if you believed Ron), eleven was the age when one graduated to a Real Broom, one without safeties.

Great, yet another thing which Harry would be behind at. Or, quite possibly, horrible. Harry didn't want to look completely dreadful at anything, so he'd been pushing himself to study as much as he could. But one couldn't study flying without a broom (well, one could, and Harry had - he thought he had caught Granger doing the same), or at least one couldn't do so _well_.

Trying to mask his own nervousness, Harry looked at everyone else. Granger looked green, although most of the other Muggleborns simply looked curious. A tiny Slytherin girl was holding the broom by the bristles (clearly not a recommended procedure, as Malfoy strode over to explain about the proper methods of holding a broomstick). The Ravenclaws mostly looked bored. Only the Hufflepuffs looked cheerful, somehow - apparently the Gryffindors were a tad defensive when among everyone - or maybe they just had more of a yen to prove themselves in a situation where Gryffindor's Virtue might somehow be applicable, class or no class.

Given a chance, Harry Potter would pass on that last bit. Strangely, no one ever seemed to give him one.

*Yes, exaggerating. Harry does this.

**Safe Harry thinks this. Madman Harry of the Books might know better. Safe Harry has only been reading about Quiddich to not appear a complete dullard. Also, Safe Harry is not nearly as cautious as he thinks he is.

[a/n: Whee! an upward turn. Harry has his own thoughts, and agenda, but school's mostly the same. How do you think he'll handle being on a broom? Leave a review...please?]


	40. Longbottom

Madame Hooch arrived on the pitch, her stout, robust form bobbing as she strode through the grass. Everyone was looking at her - except Harry Potter, who was rather grumpily eyeing the stands. _Why_ did they think they needed visitor seating, as if this was just a show of poorly trained monkeys? Her gruff (cigarette laced?) voice summoned even Harry's attention, as she barked, "Well, what are you waiting for?" Her bark was kinder than Snape's, Harry thought - the sound of expected obedience. Harry wanted that voice. "Everyone go stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

"Stick out your right hand over your broom, and say Up!" Hooch belted, her voice too low to be a proper bellow. It was the voice of a person used to crowds, used to cheers and shouts and boisterous behavior. And being heard above all that.

"UP!" Everyone shouted, and Harry felt his broom snap into his hand. Looking around, poor Hermione Granger was finally failing at something - her broom seemed to have just rolled over. Malfoy and some of the other pureblood prats (Harry'd count Ron amongst them, except he was more of a ruddy pauper than a ponce - not that Harry had room to judge) had their brooms in their hands.

Hermione simply picked up her broom with both hands. Madame Hooch strode over to Malfoy, correcting his grip - apparently Mister Malfoy's father wasn't as good at flying as he had told his son he was.

Harry had been focusing on Malfoy and the teacher, but he spun as he heard Hermione shriek. "Neville! Neville!" Harry saw Neville twenty feet in the air - white faced and clinging like an eel to a broom that was still shooting straight up. Only as he had seen it, it dove toward the ground. Neville dropped the wayward broom, and suddenly he was falling, rolling - he hit on his back, with his arm slapping the ground, really really hard. Harry heard the sickening crack, recognizing it from when one of Dudley's friends had been playing Rugby and had gotten Seriously Hurt (it was serious, and you knew it was serious, when Parents came Home From Work, and Piers couldn't play for _ages_ \- not that it kept any of them from Harry Hunting).

Madame Hooch gave a loud, startled bellow, as she bolted as quick as her short legs could carry her towards Longbottom. Before she got there, Hermione - fleeter of foot than one might have supposed - got there and squatted on the ground next to Neville. She seemed to have lost all sense, because there she was _shaking_ him, trying to render him sensate with sheer tumult. Harry briefly considered darting over to stop her before she did more damage to the foolish Gryffindor (had he been trying to prove himself, Harry wondered suddenly), before noting the bullrush of Madame Hooch, and deciding to leave well enough alone.

"Out of the way, girl" Madame Hooch cried, pushing Hermione so hard she turned a full somersault, sitting up with grass stuck out of her bushy hair. Harry stored the image to laugh at later. Gently, Madame Hooch probed the boy's wrist, surprising yelps of pain that Harry just knew Neville would get teased about later. In fact, the downright predatory grin on Draco Malfoy's face virtually guaranteed it.

[a/n: You're getting more text here, because Slytherin Harry analyzes things. And actually knows a little about healing (from books, mostly, though Aunt Petunia never fussed if he took bandages. Never helped, either.)

Review please? Do you like more of my freestory, or more of the bookplot? I think I have fun with both.]


	41. Broken Wrist

"Broken Wrist." Madame Hooch rapped out, as if that was a normal occurrence. Maybe it was, here in the Wizarding World. Harry Potter watched keenly as she said, "Come on, boy - up ya get."

Her firm, demanding gaze shot through the crowd, reaching even the edges, to the people too busy staring at their own broomsticks to care about the Idiot (now Walking Wounded) in the center of the group. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! Dare to even touch those brooms, and I'll have you out of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch." Her beefy, thick fingers curled around Neville's body, and she said, nearly kindly, "Come along, boy."

Hermione, still standing near the Coach and the Child, said loudly, "Feel better, Neville. I'll come visit after class." Harry was dead certain that he was the only one who heard her mouth to herself, "I hope so, at least."

Neville, for his part, gave Hermione a teary faced smile, and Harry reluctantly allowed himself to feel guilty for not having been more of a friend to Neville, no matter how stupid of an idea it was. There was something to be said, after all, even for stupid ideas like cameraderie and dorm room unity. Certainly both Neville and Hermione seemed to be outcasts from their dorm. Harry, well, wasn't - if only because nobody really knew him. Of course, Harry liked it that way. They certainly wouldn't appreciate a Slytherin in their midst - particularly Ron Weasley. I mean, if even a Hufflepuff-lite like Neville got shunned, how much worse would it be for a known Slytherin? Still, Harry chided himself, I could have done more for Neville. Even if it was a bad idea.

Just as Harry finished that thought, the door into Hogwarts Castle closed, and Draco Malfoy immediately cracked up, sending gleeful howls of laughter into the air, "Did you see his face, the great big lump?"

"Malfoy!" Hermione said sternly, undermining herself by not using Mister in front of his name. "He could have been seriously hurt!"

Pansy sniffed, saying, "Never figured you to like fat sniffly crybabies, Granger." Her tone was challenging, just as spoiling for a fight as Draco seemed to be.

Hermione turned her own nose into the air, sniffing loudly, and saying exasperatedly, "Honestly!"

"Hey, what's that, then?" Draco Malfoy said - mostly ignored by the folks watching the catfight start to unfold. "Look! It's that stupid thing Neville's gran sent him!" Oh, right, Harry Potter thought, mentally pulling everything that he knew about the stupid thing that he hadn't been paying much attention to when Nevile had gotten it at breakfast. Ron had been babbling about something Quiddich and Cannons, and Harry had tuned the whole table out from sheer boredom (and it really was quite interesting, this spell that he had been working on - a shield, of some sort. Not that Harry figured he'd have the power for a whole shield - but even a small one might block a small spell, wouldn't it...?*)

Draco Malfoy picked up the clear ball, flourishing it in the air as it sparkled.

"Give it back, Malfoy." Ron Weasley snarled at the pale, arrogant boy.

"To you? You're so poor you'd sell it rather than give it back, ain't cha?" Draco Malfoy snapped back. Suddenly, he smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Neville to find." He pretended to ponder, before lighting up, "How about - up a tree?"

It was a laugh line, and as was the traditional way of sycophants of all stripes, his posse ate it up with laughter.

Harry had thought Malfoy'd been joking. "Up!" Malfoy called, a broom snapping into his hand, as he leaped astride, kicking off and flying up into the sky, where he circled - as if daring someone to stop him. Harry found himself wondering if broomsticks were as dangerous as planes - fine and dandy in midair with plenty of clearance, but deadly that close to the treetrunk.

"No!" Hermione shrieked, "You'll get us all in trouble! Madame Hooch said not to move."

Harry startled, understanding that Hermione was right. Not that Malfoy had a prayer of listening to _words_.

 _Here goes nothing, I guess._ Harry thought, as he grabbed up a broom. _Please don't kill me, please don't kill me._ Amazingly, Harry found his... skylegs? The broom seemed quick enough to maneuver, and he was up and after Malfoy without a second thought. His brain started to pull some maneuvers he'd seen on the tellie (Uncle Vernon liked watching British war dramas, and the RAF was forever dogfighting with the Nazis). He slid over Malfoy, gaining a bit of altitude on him. Harry hung over Malfoy, but that wasn't where he wanted to be. He willed himself forward, as fast as he could, as he hunched over the broom, taking it down into a 180 degree curve that brought him back towards Malfoy, hanging upside down off the broom, turning the entire chase into a sudden game of chicken.

Malfoy, unwavering, looked Harry dead in the eyes, shouting quickly, "You want this? Time to play catch!" and Draco Malfoy threw the ball away, backwards over his shoulder. Harry could see the arc (which Malfoy couldn't), and knew that it would hit the wall. Harry urged his broom to go even faster, and Malfoy - eyes at last widening - threw himself out of the way, sending himself spinning. Harry mentally counted Malfoy out of the fight, as he tried to measure whether he could catch the Rememberall. Ah, so that's what it was called. Harry thought to himself as he reached out his hand, knowing that he only had one chance at this. Luckily, the broom cornered well - even if he missed the ball, he'd still probably manage not to wind up in paste on the Hogwarts Crenelations.

His focus narrowed, he reached out, and his fingers caught the ball, as he yanked viciously on the broom. **

"HARRY POTTER!" Assistant Headmistress McGonagall screamed. _Shite_ , Harry thought, _I was just about to get down_...

*Harry has been grabbing books off the common room to read. He's out of order, and may very well be completely pants at theory. But he is learning, if in a very slapdash manner. How like a Gryffindor, eh?

**unbeknownst to him, leaving bristles on the lawn.

[a/n: not soon enough, Harry, not soon enough...

Draco's being set up as less of a weak bully, and more of a posturing braggart. I don't need another bully, so I'm making Draco a bit more... reasonable. He's been hearing for ages about the Weasley's poverty, it's likely that he half-believes that Ron really would steal the trinket.

I think the whole broomstick thing works much better with him being nervous. He doesn't know he's going to be good, so why should the audience miss out on the anxiety attack?

Leave a review, I'll write more if you do!]


	42. From Screwed to Seeker

Harry got off the broom as quickly as he could, nearly faceplanting in the dirt for his trouble.

"Follow me." Professor McGonagall said, as she strode away - back toward the castle.

Harry followed with a long stride, his deliberate walk swift. Inside, though, he was utterly shaking. He was going to be expelled! He had been caught, and he was going to be expelled!

Ten strides later, Harry Potter was quite busy occupying himself with three separate plans for What To Do After Hogwarts. His favorite involved living on the lam in Diagon Alley (or maybe a slightly cheaper place - Knockturn alley, perhaps? Although he didn't want to be anything like Malfoy, and living there might take hired goons...). He did NOT want to go back to the Dursleys, but he would if he had to. He wondered if there was some reason the Wizarding World, who seemed to take him for a hero, had abandoned him to be half-starved by his Muggle relations. Didn't the Wizarding World mistrust muggles? Maybe... some commie liberal* had it in his head that he could use Harry as a Poster Child for Muggle Does Best. If so, that'd backfired spectacularly.

The thought almost made Harry smile, until he saw McGonagall sliding to a halt in front of the ... was that the Runic Classroom? Harry'd been so busy concentrating on the primary subjects that he hadn't really branched into the specialties** "Oliver Wood, if I might have a moment of your time." The teacher inside looked distinctly unhappy, and Harry quietly tiptoed slightly more behind McGonagall. He didn't need any MORE teachers having a grudge against him. If, that is, there was any possibility of him staying.

Oliver Wood stood and came out of the classroom. McGonagall ushered (her hand literally on Harry's shoulder, how humiliating) them into a nearby classroom. "Mister Wood, I would like to introduce you to your latest Seeker."

Harry Potter found Oliver's gaze on him, sharpening, as he opened his mouth.

Mistress McGonagall interrupted, "How would you like to be on the Quiddich team?"

Harry blinked. And then blinked again, his jaw open and no words at all coming out. "I'm not going to be expelled?"

"No, why would you ever think -"

"Coach Hooch said that if we touched brooms - and Malfoy-" Harry's eyes were wide, the trusting gaze of a pleading eleven year old. Or at least, Harry hoped he was doing it right.

McGonagall barked out a quick laugh, saying, "Oh, she says that every year!" Mister Wood grinned at Harry.

"Every year someone gets injured?" Harry Potter queried, his body going still. How dangerous was this world he had stumbled into?

"Nearly. The school brooms are very, very old, and decrepit to boot." McGonagall stated flatly. "You and ... Mister Malfoy, was it? should both be glad that your limbs are all still attached. I wager there were only three brooms there that could have pulled off reasonable maneuvers. And only one that could do the feats you tried, Mister Potter."

It was remarkable how low Harry could feel. It felt even worse to know that he'd done it for nearly no reason. Just to be accepted. Was his life really worth so little? "What does being a Seeker on the Quiddich team involve?"

Oliver wood explained, and Harry felt tempted to agree, simply because he'd not need to do much of anything. Just catch a ball. He wasn't one for sports, so interacting with the Quaffles and all didn't sound like fun - and he definitely wasn't a team player. But, he had discovered, just today, that he did like to fly. And he figured every minute on the field was one minute he wasn't spending with Ron Weasley.

He opened his mouth, and said something completely different, "This was my first broomride. Are you sure you want me?"

McGonagall huffed a laugh, barking past, "You managed a quicker turn than many professionals, lad. Of course he'd like to have you!" Oliver looked wideeyed at Potter, as if suddenly turning on Hero Status (and accompanying halo).

"Well, in that case, I'd be honored to be on the team."

"Excellent. I'll just have a word with the Headmaster, he'll need to approve your addition to the team." McGonagall walked off swiftly, with Oliver patting Harry familiarly on the shoulder (Harry wanted to throw his hand off, but barely restrained himself).

"A first year Seeker. Wonders never cease..." Oliver Wood muttered as he left. Harry Potter's brow furrowed, as he pondered whether he should sacrifice his dignity to run after Mr. Wood to figure out what he meant.

*Words stolen from Uncle Vernon. Obviously.

**Also, there's fewer of those books lying about the common room.

[a/n: after this, we will return you to your regularly scheduled detentions. Leave a review?]


	43. Maybe not tell everyone

Harry Potter's hand shot out to grab Oliver Wood's arm as he proceeded past the smaller boy. Frowning, Oliver Wood turned back, asking, "Yes?"

"Can we... maybe not tell everyone?" Harry asked, to a positively dumbfounded Oliver Wood. Harry immediately began trying to find any way to spin this - he just didn't want to be the center of attention, but - _there!_ "Not immediately, I mean?" Harry Potter said.

"Why wouldn't you -?" Oliver asked, promptingly, as if Quiddich was his entire life, and he hadn't considered even the prospect of a ... _There!_ Harry thought, nearly squealing with the better idea he'd just had.

"It's only, I've only flown a broom once. And, what if I wash out?" Harry said, pleadingly.

"McGonagall thinks you're the dragon's egg." Wood stated firmly. "If you wash out, I'll eat a Gryphon's breakfast." Whatever that meant, Harry thought, it obviously wasn't a nice thing.

"Then... if I'm really that good - could I, maybe, be your secret weapon?" Harry asked, his eyes shining as he tried to project an air of humility.

"I like your initiative, Potter. I'll see what I can do." Wood said.

[a/n: I know, I know, but Harry said he _needed_ to learn before everyone figures out about the stupid game. Apparently, since Harry decided to fox the timelines, next up is Friday - which, of course, is Potions. Leave a review, mmkay?]


	44. To the Hilt

Harry Potter had been thinking, he thought as he dressed for the day. Professor Snape had said that he hold true to his excuse as to why he'd had detention, as he obviously couldn't tell anyone what he really had detention for.

Well, no lie was believable without followthrough, Harry Potter thought with a deep breath. Be brave like a Gryffindor, and beard the lion in his own den. Or Slytherin, in this case.

It was unbelievably early for Potions Class (8am), and Neville was still yawning as he came down. Ron was loudly proclaiming how he'd only half done the homework, which made Harry muffle a frown behind his hand. He certainly wasn't going to develop a reputation at being second rate in Potions if Ron kept that up. There had to be some way to get Ron to at least complete the material. Without it looking like Harry was a ... studious anorak.

Well, Harry'd get to that later, he thought, drawing in a deep breath and opening the door to the Potions classroom. Or, at least, he tried to do that. Instead, the door refused to open. Slytherin and Gryffindor kids tittered around him, and it looked like someone was about to say something, as Harry looked at people out of the corner of his eye.

Suddenly, Harry heard a click - and the doors flung themselves open, revealing Professor Severus Snape staring down at Harry Potter, giving him a very good view up the man's nose. Startled, Harry Potter bounced, his body flinging itself into the group of students as he leaped backward. Not that leaping without looking was generally a good idea, but it was a far worse idea when your back hit two separate Slytherins, one of whom sprawled on the ground with a yelp.

Professor Snape seemed equally as startled, but Harry watched jealously (from the floor), as the man simply settled into a standard Karate stance (which, as Harry had reason to know, was also a standard fencing stance. really just overall handy) with his customary grace, as he watched the chaos - children shuffling out of the way.

"Up!" Professor Snape said loudly, and Potter scrambled to his feet (not without turning around and offering Davis a hand up - Millicent looked okay, but smiled shyly, and Davis offered a tentative thankful smile).

"If you are quite done, it is classtime!" Professor Snape said, as he spun around (his black robes swirling), as he stalked back into the classroom.

As Harry got his bearings (sitting beside Weasel again), Professor Snape cleared the blackboard, showing it with the customary spiky script he was known to use. "Blood replenishing potion. Follow the directions. Extra ingredients are in the cupboard, but you shouldn't need them. Put your homework and the completed potion on my desk."

Class went moderately reasonable (Harry being better than RonWhoDidn'tDoTheAssignment, at correcting his potion - it was still bad, but...).

Two-thirds of the way through the class, Neville Longbottom's potion blew up, despite Granger's (gnashed at) assistance. Professor Snape was livid, shouting at the boy about how much of a nuisance and terror he was, and how he should quit now while he had the chance.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the class, Harry Potter stood from his station, coming around the room to stand beside Neville.

"Excuse me, Snape, but didn't they introduce you as the teacher?" Harry Potter said, with a mocking grin.

"Professor Snape, Mister Potter," Snape snapped back, and said, "Yes, I am in fact qualified to judge this failure of a student."

"Frankly, Sn-, I don't see how that's possible."

"And, Mister Potter, why is that?" Snape said, briefly forgoing yelling at Potter to hear his explanation.

"You haven't hardly said a word to us the entire period. I don't see how he's supposed to have gotten everything right without your help, sir." Harry's emphasis on the last word made it an epithet, not a term of address.

"Mister Potter, it is not within your purview to criticize teaching methods."

"I'd be quiet if I thought you were teaching."

Professor Snape just looked at him, and Harry Potter looked back, knowing exactly what Snape wanted him to say, and refusing to say it.

After a long moment, Professor Snape gave up the staring contest, and turned his eyes to the heavens. "Misters Longbottom and Potter, you will have detention with me on Saturday. Bring your old clothes. You are dismissed."

Turning to the rest of the class, as Potter and Longbottom began gathering up their belongings, "The rest of you? Get back to work!"

This was the day that not even Draco Malfoy managed a decent potion, as they had all gotten entranced by the near-shouting match between Potter and the Potions Professor.

[a/n: Well, how well do YOU think Potter did? Convincing? What do you think Snape makes of the previously mild-mannered, even mannerly kid insulting him like this?

Leave a review!]


	45. Unforeseen Debts

Professor Snape sneered at the two Gryffindors in the room, and stalked out. They had the _temerity_ to bend the _rules_ for Harry _Potter_. Which, granted, normally he wouldn't have cared. It was Quiddich, after all, and boys went to ridiculous lengths to do stupid things for this confounded sport. However, Snape had several irons in the fire, and he didn't want the Gryffindors finding out about... well, most of them. Poisoning students was frowned upon, after all.* And so, Snape pretended to be completely and utterly unreasonable... about something that was, in fact, unreasonable, so it was perfectly understandable that he'd been so upset. Thus setting the Gryffindors in their rut.

* * *

Hours later, Snape strode beside Minerva McGonagall, who despite all her shrewdness in battle, still found herself wondering how in blazes he managed to sneak up on her! They were in a school, after all, not a forest or dark alley. It shouldn't be possible! "A word, if you please." Professor Snape said cordially, and Minerva immediately began scanning her former student and colleague for signs of a trap. Or mind control, mustn't forget mind control.

"Of course, Severus," Minerva said stiffly, ushering him into her Head of House Office.

"If you insist on following this foolhardy, possibly lethal 'Gryffindor Idea' of putting Potter on the team, I have a favor to ask." Professor Snape opened.

Minerva simply studied him, wondering what in Hel's good name he could possibly be up to. He had been incensed, earlier - hadn't he? "Tea." Minerva said, if only to get the tall man to sit down and cede some authority along with his monumental stature. Snape nodded as he sat, his long legs crossing to fit in the chair with slightly less awkwardness than he'd displayed as a student - and she'd seen him entirely too often then.

"Of course, Professor." Snape said, trying to pull the discussion out of social niceties, and back to business. Or so Minerva assumed. He was always hard to read.

Minerva took a sip of her tea, and asked, "Now, about this favor..."

"You have borne personal witness to the dire shape of our school's brooms." Snape began, to which Minerva could only nod. "I have put an order in to get Potter something... more suitable."

Minerva McGonagall was suddenly quite glad that she hadn't been drinking her tea, as she would have choked on it in shock. The young Potter and Snape had seemed to start up the feud that James and Severus had never truly concluded, not during school - not after school, not even while working against the Dark Lord Voldemort Himself. That Severus Snape was going to commit an act of charity towards the 'Potter Brat'** was... remarkable. And Minerva McGonagall didn't believe a single word of it. Oh, Snape was serious, of course he was serious - the "Make Minerva Spit Tea" game was only played in front of others***, and this was a remarkably poor showing besides. "And?" Minerva volleyed, pausing a moment before saying, "I fail to see what this has to do with me." Because, while she might have been inclined to intervene, if Snape was up to No Good, it had been a very long time since Minerva had felt confident that any impression, taken anytime, was justification enough to see that in Severus Snape.

Minerva regarded her younger colleague with a jaundiced eye, as he sipped his tea, content to let her stew, for the moment.

"I want you to pretend you were the one who bought it instead." Snape said, forthright as he was only with Gryffindors (and occasionally Hufflepuffs, but he rarely needed favors from Sprout).

Minerva smiled that pretty smile that she never showed to students (who saw her authority smile instead), and said, "Done." Cats always did love a good mystery - particularly stalking them, pinning them to the ground, and pulling their wings off. The hunt was on.

*What Snape's doing with Potter's Detentions? Not the Half of his plans for his House.

**Snape's term. Minerva's heard it often enough to be using it.

***Snape enjoys undermining Minerva's sphinx impression.

[a/n: ...Snape is doing Snapeish things. Off to Harry, who is not about to be doing potterish things, despite the detention.]


	46. Plans within Plans

Harry Potter fell to sleep that night, thinking not of Quiddich and Glory, but of Draco Malfoy's eyes. He wondered what would have happened if he had accepted the other boy's offer of friendship... but not very much. Mostly, he really, really wanted to know who Malfoy thought were the wrong sort... and why.

The next morning saw Harry rising with the dawn, stretching himself out. For once, he wasn't interested in the books strewn everywhere in the Common Room, despite the tempting DADA book. No, today he meant to plan. And the first step to planning was getting the blood flowing.

Up and down through the corridors he jogged (staying away from the dungeons on the suspicion that Snape might actually consider jogging to be running). As he did, little bits of a plan slowly slid together in his mind.

 _That Slytherin firstgrader whose name started with a Z. Blaise, yes, the last one to be sorted. The loner with the brilliant smile. But... There!_ Another piece slid into place. _Play on being a Gryffindor. How else was he to start a Slytherin plot?_

He would not be caught napping again. If your enemies leave you an opening, by God, Take it!

[a/n: Well, and we're off! Harry's getting a good deal more proactive. Up Next: Morning Meal, Ron, and Hagrid.

Leave a review?]


	47. Plans meet brick wall of stupid

Harry Potter was in a quite good mood on Saturday, he had his plan nearly finished (there was the very slight matter of having to actually get the lad to agree, which meant obviously meeting him without Ron around), and he came down to breakfast famished, having spent the morning practicing his "wand waving" - he had to get the subtle nuances of swish right if he ever wanted to cast some of the more... flexible spells.

Ron accompanied him, babbling on about some Quiddich nonsense that Harry probably ought to be listening to. After all, he was going to be playing on the House Team. But, as of this particular moment, he couldn't actually be bothered. He had used a school owl, and he wanted to know the answer he was going to get. And that was what all of his attention was focused on, as he sat down at the table to break his fast.

When breakfast was nearly done, two owls swooped down onto his place, delivering their messages. Harry Potter sat blinking at them, for a moment pondering the ramifications. Had the other boy gotten caught? Was one of the notes (or, both of them) about something else entirely?

Unfortunately, a moment was all it took for Ron Weasley to grab Harry's closest letter. Harry Potter closed his eyes, trying to tamp down the sudden swell of rage that wanted to leave Ron's face a swollen mess as red as his hair. That was his letter, not Weasley's! How DARE he steal it! Deep breaths, Harry thought, as he sucked in air as if it was life itself, letting it seep out of him slowly.

By the time Harry Potter had opened his eyes (praying that his face hadn't gotten all red and blotchy like Uncle Vernon's did when he was angry), Ron was saying, "Its an invitation to tea, from Hagrid! D' y' wanna go? I bet he's got biscuits big as platters!"

"I'm... not ... sure... I've got detention" Harry said, smiling pleasantly when all he wanted to do was grit his teeth. Or bash Ron's fucking teeth in.

"Come before, the invite's for two, anyways!" Ron said with a smile.

Harry quickly grabbed the other message (stowing it in an inner pocket) and stood up, "Meet me at the front gates at 1:30, and we'll walk down." If, that is, he wouldn't be missing another appointment.

Outside the Great Hall, Harry slipped into an alcove and opened the letter, only really breathing once he read the answer. _Yes_

[a/n: Uncle Vernon stealing Harry's mail has made an impression upon him, it seems.]


	48. Can you tell me the way to Hagrid's?

Harry and Ron met early to go out to meet Hagrid's (Ron had already asked Percy for directions), and they strode out into the impossible green of a Scottish September - the sky was blue, with hints of cirrus white - manes and tails, as they were called. They went towards the only physical building outside of the castle - it truly was hard to miss, once you were pointed in the right direction.

Few other people were outside, despite it being a wonderful Saturday. Harry figured they were either off playing with brooms, or on the gardens and greenhouses on the Lakeward side of Hogwarts. Hagrid's hut loomed, wooden with a thatched roof - somehow seeming a piece with the castle, though vastly lowerborn. Harry stared out at the Forbidden Forest as they drew near the hut, wondering what matter of creatures lived inside.

Ron, meanwhile, babbled pleasantly - ever so pleasant, so long as you heard but didn't listen. Harry absently nodded along, as if he was actually paying attention, his face schooled to an attentive rictus that flowed over his actual thoughts and expressions.

Ah! Here they were! Harry brought his attention back from dreams of dragons and manticores, as Ron looked up at the door. "D' y' think ya could knock?" Ron asked, and Harry resisted the temptation to call him a coward (no need to have faces beat bloody for no reason at all). "Only, the invitation was for you..."

"Of course." Harry said, his back straight as a knife as he knocked at the door. Rubeus Hagrid pulled the door back with a toothy grin, "Harry! How are ya?" He said, his arms around Harry before Harry could even think about being uncomfortable - or even slipping away. _Remember, he's quick for a big guy_ , Harry thought, committing it to memory.

Harry was finally set down (letting out a hiss at having to spend a full minute and a half being Not Scared that Hagrid was going to break his back.), and Hagrid peered behind Harry.

Harry blinked, revising his thought - Hagrid bent down slightly, peering out under the door's lintel at Ron Weasley. _How did Hagrid get in and out of this hut anyway?_ Harry wondered. _Maybe sideways?_ "Hey, you've made a new friend! Come on in!" Hagrid bellowed, and Ron, looking small against Hagrid's girth, ambled inside. Harry could tell he was trying not to act scared... and mostly succeeding.

"Here, have some tea and cauldron cakes!" Hagrid said, turning around as the two kids sat where there were normal (adultsize) seats. Ron was leaning forward, of course he was, lazy sod was bound to be as big as his cousin Dudley if he didn't learn how to work out a little. Maybe Hogwarts had bells?

Then the entire room exploded with fur, as Harry fell to the floor beside the chair, and then crawled behind it. He hadn't a clue what that was, and that bothered him. Still, assuming it wasn't firebreathing, behind a chair was a very imperfect shield, but it was still better than nothing at all.

"Fang!" Hagrid exclaimed happily, as the dog leaped on him. Harry finally understood what he was seeing (more obscured by the immense quantities of fur than the chair itself).

"'Scuse Fang now, boys." Hagrid said, "He don't know he's shedding." Hagrid looked the boys up and down (Ron nearly curled catatonic in his chair, and Harry ducked behind his, his wand tight in his hand. "Aww, don't be like that, he won't hurt you!"

"How do you know?" Harry asked, climbing smoothly to his feet (practice practice practice), before seating himself charily.

"Why he's a coward!" Hagrid said, chortling, "Good nose on him, but if he ever treed even a moggie cat, he'd be out of there before you could say Merlin!"

"Is he really?" Harry said, "but he looks so big!" He was feeding the dumb lout softballs, but that didn't really matter.

"Harry, you've got to understand - a coward's got more courage than most with his back against a ever find one of those? Best to back up and fight another day." Hagrid's eyes seemed to show an uncommon amount of wisdom, for just a moment.

"So how are your classes going? Well, I suppose!" Hagrid asked, his needling for gossip just too affable (and unprying) to be offensive.

Harry piped up, as Ron continued to try and eat the caudlron cake. "Yeah, everything except for Potions."

"Why, what'sa matter there, Harry?"

"Snape hates him, and that's that." Ron spat, seeming upset for his newfound friend.

"I dinna see how that could be," Hagrid said, pausing and looking at the both of them, "Yeh didn't do nothing to make him upset, did ya?"

There was a duet of "no sir"s and the man continued. "Then I don't think he hates either of you, the old grumpy guss does get cross, you know?" Harry had to fight down a sudden, warm smile at the thought of the Groudskeeper, of all people, calling Severus Snape grumpy.

"I thought you'd be taking our side," Harry said, pausing to choose his words with care, "Weren't you the one that said Slytherins was bad wizards?"

Hagrid nodded, saying, "Sure you've heard the saying, about one bad apple in a mess of good ones?" Harry nodded, though it was obvious that Ron hadn't seen. "Well, Imagine it the other way. That's Snape - I trust the man with my life, and Dumbledore himself trusts him too." Hagrid said, pausing, and said in a lower voice, trying to get his cords modulated so only Harry would hear. "He's got soft hands."

Harry had to close his eyes to keep them from bulging out of his head. If there was something that Hagrid was going to say, he hadn't been expecting ANY of that... And to end the whole thing with that perplexing line...

There was a high pitched squeal outside, and Hagrid said, "If'n you can excuse me a moment..." and without waiting, he exited the hut. Ron quickly shoved his cauldron cake into Harry's hands, whispering frantically "go ahead put it under the paper."

Harry did, quickly, as he saw something completely unexpected on the paper's front page. He paused to read, and it was only the clomping of Hagrid's stoneish feet that woke him out of the daze.

"Oh, you're done with your food, are ya?" Hagrid said with a smile, "Well, off you go, then." The boys seemed only too happy to leave before he started feeding them again.

[a/n: Can I get a review?]


	49. Whiskers and Tea

Ron Weasley was talking about Hagrid's food, and none of his words were complimentary. Or at least that's what Harry had gotten in the ten seconds it had taken before he had completely tuned the other boy out.

He'd seen something in the paper - Gringotts' Break in - and from the idea that it was front page news, that was apparently not a usual thing.

The strange thing was, Harry recognized the Vault that was apparently looted... it was the one that Hagrid had gone to, when Harry had been at Gringotts, a few weeks before.

And that just didn't make any _sense_ (although Harry was fast coming to understand that Wizards Didn't Make Sense, he still held out a fairly justified hope that Goblins made Cents, and were thus sensible people).

Rule number one about reporting on criminal activity was to give the least amount of information possible to the general public. Keep the criminals guessing on how much you knew about them.

And this was the exact opposite.

Perhaps it was a public relations ploy on the part of Gringotts? That they had gotten broken into, but nothing was taken? No, that didn't make any sense at all, particularly not for the closelipped goblins.

Maybe it was a ploy on the part of the criminal? Maybe the criminal had arranged for the theft to be publicized, and only after the fact did someone actually check with the goblins, who hastened to reassure everyone that nothing had been stolen...

Was there an entire black market that Harry was completely unaware of? Granted, he was eleven, and thus any respectable (and probably most disrespectable) person would be against him actually participating... But just knowing about it...

There would be traces, there would be records. Somewhere. Possibly not in the school library. Who, who would know about such things?

[a/n: Yet another of the implausibly stupid decisions Rowling (or her employed character) makes. Guesses as to Harry's newfound source? Leave a review, whether you like this or love it. Or hey, I like constructive criticism too.]


	50. Funny thing that

Harry Potter was thinking, winding thoughts that curled around each other, like snakes in a pit. He found himself wishing for a sword, to cut the Gordian knot that seemed to slither everywhere and nowhere at once.

A Breakin at Gringotts - the seemingly impossible.

And yet, they wrote about it like it was an ordinary crime, no, like it was vandalism itself. Something so miniscule that it didn't warrant hiding a single measly detail.

No, no, no, this wasn't right, Harry thought, his eyes starting to widen in a panick (which Ron, his longer legs pulling him away, blessedly didn't notice).

Why, Harry thought, his inner voice almost a scream, why did Dumbledore send Hagrid to pick up something in the vault?

Was that a known thing too?

Maybe... maybe it wasn't.

Was Gringotts itself the trap? Or were the goblins, bribed to the brim, ready to aid anyone who would bring their thrice-damned thief to justice?

Harry Potter shook his head, running up to catch up to Ron, who was still talking about how horrible Hagrid's food was. Harry wanted to get to the bottom of this... Was Dumbledore even involved? Maybe, maybe he might be able to read Hagrid, who, despite his sharper-than-he-seems intelligence, might still not be the best at quietude. He might react, even a twitch would do.

Harry Potter somehow doubted that the Headmaster of Hogwarts would be so forthcoming. He had the mien of an affable, kindly grandfather. But Harry wasn't comfortable with kindness. It seemed like a guise, behind which goals and meaning lurked. He liked it not.

Hogwarts, that giant castle filled with billions of things that he hadn't learned yet, beckoned.

This puzzle, among all the others, didn't seem quite so urgent, against the large stone edifice. Besides, Harry had detention. Idly, he wondered how many pots Neville Longbottom would scrub...

[a/n: Well, this chapter just went on its side. It's kinda fun, and a dash disturbing, when they do that, yes. Harry was supposed to tell Ron what he read, but no-oo. So, you get this. Enjoy! Write a review, if you like.

Yes, this is what happens when a suspicious, literate Slytherin starts piecing together clues. No, they don't point towards Dumbledore setting a trap at Hogwarts. That's reading ahead and working backward, which is metagaming, and all metagaming is a sin.]


	51. Double Detention

Harry found his detention with Neville to be... enlightening, at the least. For one thing, by the time Harry was done with ten pots, Neville was barely starting on the second. Which wasn't to say that Neville wasn't working hard - as House Gryffindor's resident Hufflepuffian, he was honestly doing as well as he could. It just wasn't nearly as much as Harry did.

Not that pot-scrubbing was something that rewarded talent - or even skill. No, this was muscle memory, and patience, and yet more patience. Neville had the patience, but he hadn't put in the time to get the muscles, so every stroke of his did less than Harry's.

They worked in utter silence, interspersed with Neville's occasional klutziness. It was almost peaceful - or it would have been, if Snape's eyes hadn't raked them, intermittently.

Harry was done with his ten, and he walked to the front of the class, accompanied by Neville, who by happenstance had finished his second cauldron just seconds after Harry, and had scurried to keep up.

"The cauldrons are completely clean, sir." Harry Potter said firmly. He stood there, and continued working on his mental map of healing potions and poisons, and their interactions, while Snape finished what he was working on. Beside him, Neville fidgeted almost against his will, his fingers twitching even though he hid them behind his back.

Eventually, Snape looked up at the children in front of his desk. In his normal drawl, he asked, "What's the count, Potter?"

"Ten for me, sir." Harry paused, "Two for Neville."

Snape laced his fingers together, leaning back, "Well, Mister Longbottom, you should be ashamed of not being able to even do a third of what this scofflaw could accomplish."

Neville Longbottom looked down, his fingers still twitching behind his back.

"Well, boy, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Yes, sir." Mister Longbottom said, blushing, looking into his Professor's eyes. "There weren't more cauldrons, or I'd have completed them."

Snape stood, fluidly, all in a single motion, "Well then, let's see about rectifying that." Snape's voice smiled cruelly, even if his face seemed like stone. He disappeared into a sidecloset, and then reappeared, with what looked to be a completely dreadful cauldron, nearly cleaned thin enough to have holes in it. Except, it was soiled again, spattered with half a hundred things Potter didn't recognize - and he'd cleaned a lot of cauldrons this month!

"Finish this, Mister Longbottom, and you may content yourself with an essay on what havoc your substitution this week might have wrecked if I hadn't intervened." Snape let the 'if you don't finish this' dangle, and Harry inwardly smiled, enjoying the frisson of fear, which was really quite a lot more pleasant when it wasn't being applied to you.

"Potter, you are dismissed." Snape said,

Harry Potter left hurriedly, taking the long way through the dungeons to avoid any traps. Luckily (except it was never luck for him), the bullies had decided the day was far too nice to spend in ambush. Which only meant that they'd been warned that Harry wasn't alone in the detention, and had decided to pass on beating on two Gryffindors. Harry wondered who in his class had bothered to tell them. Been paid? Done it for future favors?

[a/n: Up Next - that note. Also, Sunday. Harry spends cauldron-cleaning time working on memorizing his schoolwork.]


	52. One Busted Folder

Harry Potter arrived back in the Gryffindor Common Room to find Weasley (the youngest) busy playing Dean in a chessgame. That was fine, desirable, even. But it left Harry without much of a clue what to do. Well, when all else failed, there was always grabbing a shower. He made his way up the stairs (avoiding a trap the twins had set), and set about scrubbing all the blackened cauldron grime off of himself.

It was twenty minutes before he felt presentable, and in all that time, he was trying to figure out how to shed Weasley and get some real work done. The boy was a leech, and liked to cling to Harry. Worse, he hadn't a thought about ever working on homework, or so it seemed. No, all was fun and games for Weasley - except that Harry found his fun and games _boring_. Harry tended to favor mindgames himself (next year he'd have to smuggle in some playing cards - with a smile as he toweled himself off, he thought of the twins trying to play against each other at cards. Specifically, poker.)

Since Ron was still playing chess (and Harry had made enough infantile mistakes to be partly banned), Harry wound up over by the Weasley twins, who at least wouldn't _stare_ at him like he was some sort of beast or mascot. Quietly, they said to him, "Heard you made it!" The grins on their matching faces told him all that he needed to know - Ollie had told his two Beaters, and they were happy for him. "Here's the notes." One said.

"Read 'em, memorize them." The other responded.

"Ollie'll change them by tommorrow!" They both said together, and broke out in uproarious laughter. Harry smiled, but wasn't sure if they were serious about him learning them all. Well, it didn't matter, it was something to study, and Harry would find some time to get it accomplished.

Neville came stumbling in about two hours later, his fingers shaking. "How'd detention go?" Harry asked, as he gently guided Neville away from the clusters of people and up the stairs. Neville didn't deserve to be made fun of, not for having put that much effort in.

"I don't know how you do it, Harry." Neville said with a sigh, "And so quickly too!"

"Lots, and lots of practice." Harry said with a soft smile that neatly concealed his bitterness at exactly how much practice he'd had.

While Neville was getting his own luxurious shower, Harry slipped into his bed, pulling the curtains down and fastening them with a quick cantrip from _Everyday Cantrips_ that someone had left lying around the Common Room. He opened the Twin's battered folder (did they not have enough money to get new ones, or were they really beating them this hard on a regular basis? With those two, it was hard to tell). His mouth curved into a small smile as he read on, learning as he went that he didn't really have any job at all to do. All Ollie had ever written for him was "Find the Snitch." Of course, Harry knew it was slightly more involved than that - he had to catch it, after all. But this meant that practice was going to be a breeze! And that was relieving, because he needed time. It felt like the year was sliding through his fingers, and that at any moment, someone might sneak up behind him and start to throttle the air right out of his lungs.

He needed to be prepared.

Thoughtfully, he started to review his plans for the morrow, lying down in his bed until he heard Ron tromple upstairs, at which point he stashed the folder in the space between the frame and the spring, and with an inward sigh, flung open the curtains. Ron cried as he saw Harry, "There you are! My brothers and I are going snipe hunting!"

Lovely, Harry thought, the gullible Gryffindor was being lulled into a trap by those gaily colored songbirds he called brothers. And, like the lovely friend he was, he was going to drag Harry in on it.

[a/n: Bridging to Sunday. Leave a review if you like it, or especially if you don't!]


	53. Sick to my stomach

Sunday was a lazy day, or at least that was how Ron Weasley, who never ever did his homework, thought of it. Harry was encountering this view for the first time - even Dudley (under Petunia's watchful eye) had done his homework, if rather quickly and slipshodly (and, truth be told, he wasn't terribly good at it in the first placpe). But Ron? All Ron wanted to do was play chess, or go outside and skip stones (not into the Squid!). After about twenty minutes of this, Harry found himself bored enough to be practicing spells in his mind.

"I'm not feeling well." Harry said, doing his level best to turn green (not that he'd ever had need of this particular trick, before, so he hoped for the sake of Harry The Hero that it would work), and quickly stumble-running back inside. Behind him, he heard not-particularly-cruel laughter.

Once inside Hogwarts Castle, Harry's entire demeanor changed, as he slid into an alcove, hurriedly tapping the three stones that would allow him access to the dungeon. There were benefits to thorough research, particularly in a honeycombed place like this one. Stepping into the secret staircase, Harry Potter sneezed, tucking a hand up inside his robe to get a hankie, to wipe his nose. He didn't want to look like Ron.

This meeting was important, after all.

Harry hoped he wouldn't be late. He made it down to the bottom of the stairwell, disengaged the lock and slid out, remembering to close the wall-door. Now in the heart of the Slytherin dungeons, Harry whispered a notice-me-not spell, and hoped it would work. Well, he supposed it ought to, on first years. Apparently the higher your magical ability and skill, the easier it was to notice the glaring beacon of the spell.

Harry was just late enough to be wondering if his conversational partner had left. Harry came to the middle of the crossway, dismissing his spell and turning around. Out of the shadows, Blaise Zambini strode, his black face having bled into the darkness. The deepbrown eyes looked Harry up and down, and finally nodded, "I think you could be useful, in a pinch."

Harry shrugged, affecting a bit of false modesty, "I'm quicker than I look, and I can howl when needed." Harry tilted his head a bit, "Or keep quiet, if that's what you need."

The Slytherin smiled, his white teeth flashing out of his dusky face. "Then what do you want?"

"Like for like. Next time I leave a detention, I want you to take my tie, and run like hell for the main staircase from the dungeons." Harry Potter said, his manner deliberately blunt and Gryffindorish - or at least so he hoped. Nobody in Gryffindor talked about how to deal with Slytherins (in fact, he suspected that you'd have to hogtie Ron to get him to even be polite).

"And for this, you'll do me a favor?" Zambini eyed him skeptically.

"Something mildly dangerous, sure." Harry Potter said, "Consequences limited to a drubbing," And then Harry smiled, and it was a warm and cheery Gryffindor smile, "You'll be reimbursing me for loss of use if I break any bones, or am otherwise bedridden."

Zambini eyed him up and down, and said, "You could come in handy, I suppose. You have yourself a deal."

[a/n: This took more words than expected.

Up Next: A broomstick!

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	54. Things that were Not

Monday morning broke, the way it often did in Scotland, with sunlight filtering through clouds. As was predictable in the gloamy morning, Harry Potter was the first one out of bed, as he quickly showered and raced down to the common room to see what he could read. There was a fantastic book on Magical Creatures (was that really year Four?) that he opened and began to skim, prioritizing reading about dragons and centaurs because they seemed both more dangerous, and more likely to occur at a school (Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon was Hogwart's motto, after all, so it stood to reason there might be a dragon sleeping under Hogwarts - though in his careful poking around the Slytherin dungeons, Harry hadn't seen hide nor hair of even a potential entrance. Still, it was silly to assume that they'd have put the entrance in the Slytherin region - far more practical to put it in Hufflepuff territory; not only were they less inclined to look for trouble, but others (like bold Gryffs) would be less likely to discover it).

It was hours before Harry was jostled out of his reading by the sound of light footsteps. Wait... was that the twins? Harry nestled back into his hiding place, enjoying the way the bucket swung from their paired arms. He liked it considerably less when they hung it above the door. Now, that was a classic trick, true, but Harry was actually starting to feel hungry (detention and the normal weekend had incited his appetite), and he didnt' want to be the one to get drenched with whatever was in there.

Harry turned the "what if" over in his head, three times, before finally laying it down and resolving that he was going to wait for someone else. If only he had a way to knock on the other side of the door... There were so many spells he needed to learn, and he was discovering that Charms in particular didn't lean toward the practical, just the easy to learn.

About a half hour later, Perfect Prefect Percy was suitably drenched, and Harry - careful to not slip - slid out of the Gryffindor Common Room to attend breakfast. He was famished and ate with a will.

By the time most of the Gryffs had even started to trickle in, Harry was playing with a bit of fruit for dessert.* His mind was busy, thinking about what he knew wasn't true, and then laying out the possibilities. Harry didn't believe that someone could really bribe the goblins to allow a thief to escape justice. That meant that the person was at the very least exceptional in some way, as breakins weren't a normal occurrence. However, he might just be arrogant...

Harry Potter's musings were cut short as the owls flew down. As always, he paused and watched them fly. He wished he could have wings, it'd be loads better than any broomstick. Speaking of... was that three owls, carrying a broomstick? But...

As the owls came to a rest in front of Harry, his first thought was, _It's for me!?_ His second was to throw a betrayed look at Ollie Wood, who looked apologetic and shrugged, as if he hadn't a clue how the broom had gotten there.

Ron Weasley's mouth had fallen open, as he nearly drooled over the broomstick.

"It's the latest model." Nevile said, his voice hushed in the sudden silence.

"First years aren't allowed broomsticks." Draco Malfoy's soddin' arrogant voice drawled loudly from the other side of the room.

Minerva, as quiet as her animagus form, had materialized behind Harry. He nearly jumped when she said primly, "Good luck on the team."

The entire hall descended into chaos. Harry was pretty sure the Ravenclaws were merely demanding answers of their younger dormmates, but the Slytherins looked ... well, more hostile than normal. Harry gritted his teeth, and looked up at the Gryffindor table. Other than the Quiddich team (who had undoubtedly been briefed earlier), the entire table had the same, "What did you do, Potter?" look on their faces. Well, other than his fellow first years, who had wide grins on their faces. Except for Ron, who still hadn't recovered.

Finally, Ron gasped, "The youngest Quiddich player this century!"

Harry didn't want to grin. Harry wanted to hide. This was not going according to plan, and it was going to bite him on the arse before the end. In fact, judging from the dark look Draco Malfoy was currently giving him, that was likely to be sooner, rather than later. Hopefully the blond would have enough sense to stay quiet until they were out from the Great Hall.

Harry didn't want to start a full-on brawl between houses. They might expel him for such lunacy, after all. Harry just wanted to be a good Gryffindor, even if they were a little too daring and _noisy_.

*If Ron and Hermione think he doesn't have an appetite, it's because they don't actually _see him eat_.

[a/n: Well, I'm not sure I properly captured the chaos surrounding Harry The Hero getting his first broom. Harry, however, is kinda floating above it all. After all, when everyone's shocked silent isn't exactly the time to be gathering intel. The next few days should prove illuminating.

Poor Harry. He just wants to fit in.

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	55. Right So that happened

[trigger warning. Gryffindor Moment ahead.]

Luckily, Draco Malfoy apparently had a bit more sense than his cousin Dudley. That, of course, just meant that Draco Malfoy caught up to Harry and Ron when they were about halfway to Gryffindor Tower. Malfoy hadn't been running, he'd been sliding through quicker ways, so he was actually in front of Harry and Ron.

Of course, his face was still beet red, but mostly in rage, not from exertion. He tried to look calm, at least. Harry, who had been expecting this unexpected visitor, merely looked at him.

"I challenge you to a duel!" Draco Malfoy said grandly. Harry wasn't actually sure who he was trying to impress, as the only people in the hall were notoriously sloppy Gryffindors.

"I accept." Harry Potter responded, starting to grin.

"We'll meet at midnight, in the Trophy room. Wands crossed, and all that." Draco Malfoy said, speaking quickly, as if he didn't want to be overheard, though no one was really around.

"No." Harry Potter said, and his grin grew a tooth or two. "As the challenged, it is my right to set the terms of the duel. Or did you think a Gryffindor wouldn't know the codes?" (To be fair, from the look on Ron's face, he clearly didn't understand what had just happened. Or, probably, why Harry would say no, even though the bastard was ruddy good at chess.)

"What are the terms?" Draco Malfoy said, and Harry mentally awarded himself a point. He hadn't looked up the terms in the Wizarding world, after all, and he'd just been hoping that confidence and otherworld knowledge would carry the day.

"We can meet at midnight, in the Trophy Room, if you want." Harry said with a careless half-shrug, "Anytime's good for me." Harry's grin got wider, as he said, "The contest shall be Muggle Fisticuffs." He paused dramatically, watching Malfoy pale at the idea that he was now on someone else's turf, and had been outmaneuvered so very neatly. "Although," Harry drawled, "I should warn you, I have a tendency to go for the eyes." Not only did Harry's grin widen (it was now as wide as he could make it), but his eyes did too.

Malfoy kept an impressive control over himself, but Harry could tell he just wanted to run away, and only the thought that Harry would gain a lot on him if he did so (and the thought that he'd still have to face in a fight a boy he had shown fear towards), kept him from fleeing at a run. With somewhat shaky legs, Malfoy turned and went down a sidecorridor, undoubtedly heading someplace quiet so he could think about how much of an idiot he was. Which, to be fair, he really, really was. Dueling was a Gryffindor's game, not a Slytherin's. And this, this had been far from cunning.

Harry let his expression relax out of that wolfish grin, down to a more relaxed, genuine grin of happiness. He had handled that well, hadn't he?

Until, that is, he caught sight of Ron, who had managed to turn almost as pale as Malfoy. Ron gathered himself, and stammered, "Did you... did you really mean what you said to Malfoy?"

"Um? What in particular?" Harry asked, nodding and not quite sure what was causing Ron to look so scared. Was he honestly upset that Harry was going to fight as a muggle? Fighting as a wizard was just stupid, they only knew two spells apiece or so. Completely fucking ridiculous.

"That you..." Ron paled even further, starting to look a little blue. "That you tend to go for the eyes?"

"Oh, yeah." Harry said, smiling at the memory of him gathering every Gryffindor Moment to present to the Sorting Hat, "I did do that, didn't I? I was four, at the time, and Aunt Marge's dog - I called him Bitey, because the only thing I remember about him is his white shiny teeth biting at stuff - Bitey decided I was on the menu that day. He lunged at me, and had me pinned down by my shoulders. So, what's a babe to do? I curled my fingers, and gouged his eye out." Harry smiled at the memory, "And you know the best part? They thought I'd done it by accident, so I didn't even get punished."

"Blimey, Harry..." Ron said, and fainted.

It was around this time that Harry's people sense caught up to what he'd been saying, and more importantly, the reaction it'd been causing in Ron (He'd been thinking about the memory so hard, he had lost sight of his 'young friend''s reaction).

Oh.

Was that not a true Gryffindor Moment?

Ron did seem ... strangely disturbed, and all his brothers were in Gryffindor, and his parents too.

Harry'd have to work on this, he could see that now.

[a/n: So, a Slytherin's idea of "I Was Brave!" is a liittle different than a Gryffindor's. And yes, he almost died that day.

Sorry it's so graphic, at least I didn't mention...

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	56. Duelling Prize

Harry was halfway up to Gryffindor tower, it seemed like it'd been a flash - pure adrenaline, and make no mistake. Still, he thought as he whispered the password and stepped inside, he didn't want to dwell on the upcoming duel. That'd be stupid, right? Either he'd win, or he'd lose, those were the options. Ron found someone playing a chess game and wandered off to look (leaving Harry thankful), as Harry scampered up to his room (only vaguely noting that Granger was busy with a book, and that the other first year girls were comparing notes on hairdos).

Harry had out his book on defense (which was really quite an improvement over Quirrell, who was abominable. And not in the snowman variety, which at least would be amusing when the Scottish winter ended and he got to melt into a puddle all over the floor). He was trying to read about redcaps, who really did seem about as bloody as Harry'd been trying to make himself out to be earlier. Maybe Malfoy had good reason to take him seriously.

Now, there's a thought, Harry pondered, could I wrangle a prize for winning the duel? Harry already knew what he wanted to know from Malfoy - just who exactly did he think were unsuitable people to befriend? Who were the right people?

Harry pushed that to the back of his mind and kept studying, his curtains pulled down and a soft lumos providing just enough light that it reminded him of his cupboard (Aunt Petunia had always given him a nightlight - perhaps that was why his eyes were bad enough to need glasses, but she'd also say it would keep him out of trouble. Harry'd never been able to decide exactly how he could get in trouble in a broom cupboard!).

His world dissolved, as it often did, into wand movements and lore, bits of trivia that might save his life someday. This wasn't where he liked to practice, but reading was something that Harry Potter never had enough time for, not anymore. Not since he had come up with this mad plan to convince everyone he was some sort of bloody Gryffindor.

It was hours before something broke his contemplation, broke his thoughts.

A sniffle.

Neville Longbottom was there, outside the curtains, curled up into a ball in the corner of the room, beside his bed. He was trying, in vain it seemed, to stem his tears. Harry Potter thought with a bit of a sardonic air, that a true Gryffindor wouldn't let another firstie cry - would explode out and demand to know what was wrong, or if he was slightly less of a gossip, might make a bit of a pratfall to shock the boy out of his tears and into laughter.

Harry, however, was neither of those things, and because he was who he was, he decided to indulge himself by granting Neville the privacy that he so obviously desired. Harry turned back to his books, and that was that.

Or, it would have been, if Neville had been content to keep it to crying. Harry Potter had given up on listening to him, and - without using the spell - had drawn on hardearned skills learned at the Dursleys. Let the sound travel by, don't filter it, don't let it sink in. Just let it travel on by...

The coppery stink of blood was harder to ignore, however. Harry Potter sat there a moment, paralyzed, wanting to peek out, not wanting Neville to know - and in a flash, he had it.

Harry Potter yawned. Loudly. It was fair to say that he yawned louder than he'd ever yawned in his life (before, there'd never been anyone to care, except that he could stay quiet. Harry'd proved very quiet indeed). Quickly, he mussed his hair (giving himself a case of bedhead that was only marginally worse than after he'd used a comb).

Harry tumbled out of bed, pausing to look at Neville, with his bleeding knuckles. "Oi, who'd you fight?" Harry clapped Neville on the back, and Neville found himself staring up at Harry Potter, his mouth working soundlessly.

"Myself, actually." Neville said seriously.

"No shit?" Harry asked, and Neville blushed at the blue language. "Well, that explains how you got past the Common Room without being pecked by the Mother Hens." (Harry was referring to a few of the sixth and seventh year girls who thought that the first year boys were _totally_ cute, and had a tendency towards unwanted mothering).

Harry bent over, looking at Neville's bleeding knuckles more closely. "You might want to get that looked at, assuming you don't want to have to explain scars to your folks." Harry gave Neville, who was still looking quite baffled at how voluble Harry was, a toothy grin, "Of course, they say that girls like manly scars, so if you don't want me to tell, I won't."

"Please." Neville said, standing quietly, "Not a word."

Harry Potter nodded silently, yawned again (loudly and with four syllables), "I'ma get back ta nappin'"

"Rest well, Harry." Neville said, and it sounded like he was clinging to pleasantries. As Harry got back to reading, he figured that was better than not caring enough to want to hurt himself.

[a/n: Trying to strike a balance between Harry-The-Helpful and Harry-doesn't-care, as both are pretty well true. I'll call this the end of Sunday.

Neville, like Hermione, isn't really big on Quidditch, so that's why there's no fanboying. That, and, Neville's really not feeling up to being excited.

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	57. Tuesday was Worse

Harry'd thought Monday had been awful. Not Malfoy, he could handle Malfoy - but realizing just how screwed up he'd been, trying to get into Gryffindor. That was not only plain humiliatin', it was bloody dangerous to boot. He did not need anyone figuring out that he was just an impostor, pretending to be a Gryffindor. And, he knew now, that the pieces just didn't fit right. There was light shining through, between every set of puzzle pieces. Enough holes to make swiss cheese, and no mistake.

Tuesday was worse. Not only did the Entire Gryffindor First Years crowd around him (Monday he'd hidden quickly enough, but apparently they'd decided to corner him altogether, and there was no avoiding 10 determined (and very agile) first year Gryffindors). Although, to be fair, Neville only seemed to be there to listen, not to pester.

Still, Harry Potter hated being the center of attention, and with everyone peering on him - those were sixth years, and even Percy stopped by to wish him well, saying that if he had any trouble with the Twins, that he should ask Percy for help. Officious though the bloke was, he was well meaning. Even if asking for help wasn't Harry's style. Nor, he thought, was it Ron's, or really most Gryffindors.

In fact, having the Post of Prefect of Gryffindor had to be one of the most useless posts imaginable at the school. McGonagall did her own punishing, and the younger kids generally didn't ask for help - even when they needed it. Harry Potter was suddenly glad that it didn't look to be possible for him to pull off good enough grades to get prefect. Bloody useless, pompous freaks.

And that was just the Gryffindors, who seemed to expect to hoist him on their shoulders (to be fair, he was light). The other Houses seemed divided. The Hufflepuffs wanted to cheer him on (at least until he started winning, something that the Gryffindors took for granted - Harry didn't want to see what they'd do if he lost, but he wasn't sure he cared enough to get good at the sport, and at least he'd kill some hero worship if he dropped the snitch a few times. Maybe he'd do that, and then shove it down Draco Malfoy's throat. His mind reminded him that Malfoy wasn't playing (the smug git was finally not getting something he wanted), and he decided that some seventh year seeker was probably not the best person to pick a fiht with).

The Ravenclaws? Cautiously optimistic, congratulatory, but mostly just watchful, as if they didn't trust that this wasn't some Gryffindor scheme that was going to have them lose even more horribly than last year.

And, of course, sitting in the common room, Harry couldn't help but hear a thousand stories about Charlie Weasley, until he was beyond sick of them and just wanted to say, "you already have one hero, leave me out of it!"

But more troubling than all the pestering was that Harry hadn't had a chance to even score another detention. He needed to get one, he needed to plan out his revenge, and most of all, above all else, he needed to be prepared.

All this blather was interfering.

Harry'd have to do something about that, yes, he would.

[a/n: Got any suggestions? Harry's way, way less Quidditch mad than the Gryff version. And he wants to get back to his revenge, dammit! Also, reading and learning spells at a rapid clip (we're putting him at about Severus Snape's level of 'reading ahead' by the way - 'has no friends to distract him, reads double the material, understands most' - and focuses heavily on Offensive and Defensive Spellcasting. The practice of which (other than while scrubbing cauldrons) is coming shortly. There will be flinders!

Is there some lone soul out there whose soul is stirred by this chapter? Do you remember what it was like to be mobbed by someone? Even if not, leave a review!]


	58. Up to the heaviside layer

[a/n: My endless thanks to the reviewer who remembered that I hadn't actually shown Harry releasing his owl! I have since fixed, and will refix to show him breaking the stupid cage to absolute flinders! (Harry, as you might guess, doesn't exactly like putting wild things in cages. Reminds him too much of himself). In honor of this, we have an owl-chapter!]

Harry Potter raced away from the sudden attention. He hadn't wanted this, and though it truly seemed like it wasn't Ollie's idea (or even the twins, they had liked the prank of Harry being the Seeker well enough, and they'd have mentioned if they were pranking him. Probably.).

Eyes on him wasn't his idea of fun, in the first place. And after yesterday, with the whole Ron thinks this isn't proper Gryffindorish fiasco, Harry Potter especially didn't want eyes on him.

Eyes on him meant doing things was difficult. Particularly things he didn't want to get noticed. And he really, really didn't want anyone considering what it meant that Harry Potter wanted a detention with Snape, of all people. Someone would get a weird idea, and then the gossip mills would really start churning out broadsheets. It was too much to contemplate.

So whenever Harry saw someone coming, he turned away, his feet taking him steadily but surely upward.

At the top of a tower, Harry found the Owlry, where the owls nested. It's floor was positively filthy with powdered bird droppings, and the little bones of mice crunched under his feet. Harry found himself beside the human-sized opening, sliding his bottom to the floor as his back oozed down the wall. He was practically hidden from sight here, and that was just how he liked it.

He spent minutes luxioriating in the silence. Finally, he said, "I want to fly. I want to fly away, and I'm not sure if I should ever want to come back." Harry's eyes were downcast, staring at a small bat-skeleton on the floor.

Suddenly, he felt a rush of air, as he looked up in alarm. A white bird was flying upward. Harry's breath caught. He knew that bird! It was the one Hagrid had gotten him. "There you are!" He exclaimed happily, "I'm glad you made it. I didn't want you to get all blinded in suburbia, and not know your way back to the Wizarding world." The owl floated down again, landing gracefully on one of the lower perches. "Have they been feeding you well?" Harry asked, and the owl eyed him expectantly, as if he was just a foolish little boy.

A seventh year Hufflepuff entered the Owlry, throwing his hand up for his familiar (by the name of Jaytu) to land upon. "Oh, here you go, an owl treat for my pretty." (Harry had a brief, silent laugh at that - he sounded like the Wicked Witch of the East).

Harry Potter mentally pulled himself together, sitting up straight and waitin for the Hufflepuff to leave.

It was not to be - the Hufflepuff noticed him just as he was turning to leave. "Harry Potter?" the boy asked, a bit bewildered.

Harry wasn't going to let this older guy show him some form of bloody hero worship. "How do you get owl treats?"

The hufflepuff said, "You can always ask at the kitchens, or you can order them from a book. All the Heads have a catalog, and you can order nearly anything you need. It's how they keep us penned up in here. You wouldn't believe how many potion ingredients Sasha's gone through. And he's in the NEWT course!" The Hufflepuff laughed loudly, causing some of the owls to ruffle their feathers.

He left shortly after that, but Harry was starting to smile a slow smile. The Hufflepuff had rather inadvertently giving him a good idea.

[Well, there you have it. Little resolution, but harry's New Plan = well, read and find out!]


	59. Practice

Wednesday was Quiddich Practice, and since everyone and their brother had heard about the youngest seeker in a Century (Harry didn't know whether that was true, but, certainly there was some level of excitement.) Everyone around the breakfast table clapped Harry on the back, including the girls. Including people he didn't know, but who he assumed were Gryffindor (the ties were a giveaway).

When he got to the locker room, he learned that his clothes didn't fit right (apparently custom tailoring was what Madame Malkin was really for, and Quiddich went by different, more military rules). So, he shucked into clothes that had the pleasant side effect of having cloth wraps for his palms, by way of overlong sleeves. The overlong trousers would not make much difference - once he got to the air, at any rate.

Harry Potter got poked and prodded by the Weasley Twins (while the girls changed - he wondered if the duty was to stop him from peeking, or the twins - he suspected the latter), while Oliver Wood hollered instructions at the Chasers.

They moved out of the locker room as a unit, emerging under the bleachers... As they strode into the stadium, well, Oliver stopped cold. Then the Chasers and Keeper did as well. And then the twins... stood and bowed to the crowd? Harry wasn't quite sure what was going on - but then the twins stepped aside, like Star Trek doors, and bowed inward, leaving a space for Harry to _finally_ see.

The entire school was there, it seemed. Well, other than the teachers, who surely - oh, there was Prof. McGonagall, ostensibly to keep control over the ... mania. Or was that hysteria? Better stick to mania, there's too many boys out there. Harry was sure he looked a bit pale, but he turned slightly towards George, and growled at Oliver Wood, "Couldn't we at least kick the Slytherins out? If we don't, I fear that the bleachers may topple down."

The twins gave him matching smirks, and Ollie smiled, saying, "Not a bad plan, Potter," as he strode off looking for McGonagall. After a bit of arguing, she hollered (louder than Harry had ever heard her), and sent all of Slytherin and everyone above fourth year off the bleachers.

Draco Malfoy, who had been sitting quite up front, gave Harry Potter a look that was filled with hate - or, in this case, it's petty younger cousin, jealousy. They looked similar, you know.

Practice itself proved a great time for Harry to work on wand movements, though he hoped that no one would recognize him spending the trouble to learn Bombardo - that was a spell clearly labeled for Auror track personnel, not something for ordinary use. And especially not something that you'd want someone learning four years before it was taught in class.

Nevermind how handy it was going to prove to be.

[a/n: up next: Harry gets . Leave review.]


	60. Forget about class

Harry Potter had managed to glaze through class. Oh, sure, he never answered any questions (right, anyway), but this was utterly abnormal behavior for him. He liked class, liked the abilities he was learning to master (mainly by watching the teacher correct other people - Harry was rarely so abysmal that he had to be corrected).

Before this, Harry had known he was wealthy. Harry had money, and Harry knew money meant power.

But.

That was _before_. Before a stray comment to the older Weasleys had gotten him three different Mail Order Catalogs - _I wasted some of my bowtruckle juice, and it's such a shame that I can't get anymore..._

Three Different Catalogs (and only George's was purely potions).

It was like opening the doors into a new world. A world where Harry Potter (former Freak) could buy anything he wanted.

So, yes, Harry Potter was quite a bit distracted. In his mind (where Dudley wouldn't find it), he had already begun working on the list. And what a list it was! Scales, and spit, and eyes and whiskers galore! Harry hadn't actually made a potion right yet, and he really, really wanted to be able to see what they were like. Burn salve, he figured, would be safe enough, even if he needed to burn himself a bit to test it out. That should be okay, right? It wasn't like the infirmary didn't have any burn salve themselves, right? Harry'd have to read about side effects. Oh, and cauldrons, and Harry figured he'd find some clothing too - there was this skyblue hat that he wanted (and nevermind what Ron said, at least it wasn't green!).

Harry Potter had to restrain himself from simply buying the whole catalog (particularly Fred's, which contained many items in the gray area of legality, most of which were flat out banned for minors. Who wanted stimulants, anyway, when one had magic? Fireworks should be stimulating enough, but they weren't banned at all!).

Of course, working on a list was mapping out the Potions programme that he intended to follow. And that meant figuring out how many mortars and pestles he was going to need - and knives. Surely he could mail order knives? This wasn't going to work otherwise - he stole a glance at the catalog right before lunch. Yes, knives were on the menu! Not swords, and not garrottes, and Harry suppressed a shiver. Apparently muggles weren't the only ones creative about killing people.

Harry Potter was so occupied with his dreams, his plans, that he managed to walk straight through Draco Malfoy (and since Draco Malfoy was apparently more tangible to touch than to sight, the milkfaced git wound up on the floor before Harry). Harry blinked at the situation, looking down at him owlishly.

Before Harry could offer a hand (because that was simple courtesy), Draco Malfoy scrambled up, brushing past him with a hard blow to the shoulder, "Tomorrow night, midnight, Trophy room." he said all in a rush, and Harry Potter had to put together the words, before he could arrange a competent thought himself.

Oh, the duel. Harry'd forgotten about that, just like he'd forgotten about most things. With a mental note to tell Ron,* Harry Potter headed down to lunch. Perhaps today he... Harry abruptly realized that he had forgotten about slimes, salivas, and other colloids.

*which he promptly forgot.

[a/n: Harry Potter hasn't had anything of his own before. The books were from the library. He's now discovered something he can do with his money, and is rather distracted.

Looking for reviews.]


	61. Quickest Way To Hell

Harry Potter was in a mood, having sent off his three owls. The mood was presently "stir-crazy." And so this was how he found himself hanging, by his ankles, between the two Weasley twins, in an abandoned hallway somewhere north of the eighth floor (he had rather lost track).

"So." Harry said, hoping that his anti-gravity spell would continue to hold - or at least the magnetic one that held him fast to the metal-embossed ceiling above.

"Why hello!" one twin said.

"Fancy meeting you here..." the other said, consideringly.

"What's the quickest way to a detention?" Harry prompted.

"Depends." one twin hemmed.

"Whose detention do you want? Sprout's difficult, you'll need to apply some fire to her greenhouses."

"How about Snape?" Potter asked.

"Oi, he's easy." one twin smiled.

"Yeah, we'll tell you how to get one on him, for free." the other said

"Are you sure, he's not known for going light on us Gryffs, and I don't think he cares for you one whit."

"Rather the point, yes."

"He's scheming something."

"Something good, no doubt."

"Well, Mister Mischevious, the easiest way to get Snape to give you a detention is to 'forget' to address him as professor."

"Or sir, he likes that too."

"Thanks" said Harry, content with the conversation, and walking off still attached to the ceiling. As he turned a corner, and found himself now above a girl and a boy kissing, he took a moment to balance a pail of water on the door they were using to hide from the hallway. Nothing like two well-kissed damp rats. Or was that cats?

* * *

Harry had taken out a book from the library. It was his first, on Quiddich of all things, as apparently that was the only sort of study that Ron considered acceptable for his friends. Harry'd taken the book and gone outside, to sit on the long lawn above the Black Lake.

Naturally, this was when Snape happened on by. "Potter, what are you doing with that library book?" Snape said coldly.

"Reading," Harry Potter said, turning a page - his attention fully on Snape, but doing a job of masking that with sphinxlike attentiveness on the book itself

Which, naturally, led to Snape snatching the book out of his hands, "Detention, Potter, for mistreatment of a book."

Potter looked up at Snape's longnosed face, blinking, "What did I _do_?" for once, an honest question. An honest response. Harry cursed to himself, and thought he needed to work on that. Should have anticipated - how _could_ he have anticipated - _this_?!

"I can think of a thousand calamities that could strike that book, by virtue of its untimely departure from the halls of Hogwarts Castle. Carelessness is never a virtue." Snape said, "And take another detention for your cheek."

Harry could have almost squirmed in delight, though he held himself close. Finally, today, it was his lucky day! Not that anyone in their right mind wanted a detention - but this? This would play into his plans.

Which left him with only one question, as Snape strode off, robes billowing in the autumn gusts of wind, "Why was Snape so bloody unfair to him?"

[a/n: Yes, Harry's more slytherin. Doesn't mean he really knows how to be a Gryffindor, and so he automatically mistrusts his own responses, and wants to mask them - even when it's exactly what a Gryff would have done.

Snape's still a bastard and a bit of a jerk.

Reviews welcome!

Up next - the not so duel.]


	62. After Light's Out

"Ron, I need to you to come with me tonight." Harry whispered urgently to his friend, as they had retired early before lights out.

"What? What's tonight?" Ron asked blearily.

"Duel, with Malfoy." Harry responded.

"Think he'll have the stones to show up?" Ron asked.

"Ought to, I figure." Harry said slowly, "If he doesn't, we'll know him to be a coward."

They waited upstairs until after lights out, and then a few minutes afterward. Using his Tempus spell under the covers, Harry was able to time it until 10pm, when they slid out of bed, and were downstairs. They slipped by Percy, who was still awake studying.

Outside, they found Neville Longbottom, hopelessly lost and unable to get back in. Ron was quicker than Harry - his hands were already muffling Neville's mouth before the kid could get a word out. Un-fortunately, that meant that the door to the Common Room had closed behind them - and the Fat Lady wasn't there to give the password to.

"We'll just have to take him with us." Harry reasoned, and Ron grinned, overjoyed with the whole adventure concept.

"Where are you going?" Neville asked.

"Trophy Room" Harry responded, wanting to give the lad as little information as possible, in case they needed to make a quick escape.

"Duel. Harry's got one with Malfoy." Ron said, completely oblivious to Harry's wants and needs. As always. Still, he made a great stalking horse.

They were halfway up the stairs, before Neville said, "But what if we get caught?"

Harry shrugged, "Detention. As usual." Ron looked a little more upset, but didn't say another word.

They were up in the Trophy room, looking around at all the brushed trophies gleaming in their cases. Neville asked uncertainly, "When's he supposed to show up?"

"Midnight." Ron responded.

Harry shifted from foot to foot, "Not sure how we're supposed to tell that though."

A long silence stretched out, and then they heard a scraping sound, a clattering clickety clack. They all stilled, trying to be so silent that they dared not _breathe_.

"Hey, pretty kitty, what have you found?" Filch said from down the hall. "Izzit some rapscallions, out sneaking about?"

Ron broke first, surprisingly enough, and Harry gave an exasperated (and silent) sigh at the ceiling before following him. Neville was behind them, and Harry hissed as he ran, "We've got to stick together."

Well, they stuck together down a hall (hearing the clickety of Filch's shoes pacing down the stairs), and then they were at a dead end, with a locked door.

"Neville, can you open it? You're better than I am at ..." Harry said, and Neville nodded, trying desperately to be brave.

"I can try," He said doubtfully, and waved his wand.

On the fifth try, there was a soft click.

They flung themselves into the room, and Harry had the presence to hold onto the door... slowing it so that it clicked shut, and didn't slam with Ron's full weight on its edge.

Neville, from behind them, temporarily forgotten in their terror, whispered, "Um...guys..."

They turned around, taking caution from his tone. There was a giant, sleeping dog, with three heads! Harry wanted to shriek, Harry wanted to run. But, he thought, slowly taking breaths as he turned his mind into a deeply meditative state, it was still asleep.

"Be vewy vewy quiet." Harry said softly, and the other two boys simply nodded. They waited, and waited some more. As they were preparing to tiptoe out, Harry caught a last glimpse of the dog - rolling in its sleep, its paws moving as if it was fantasizing about freedom, and chasing a three headed rabbit. That was a _trapdoor_ under it.

Harry at last connected the dots, as they were tiptoeing away. _That was the third floor corridor. That was certain death._

[a/n: Jeeesus, that's frightening. Remember, these are eleven year olds.]


	63. Flat out run

Harry looked at the spiky handwriting on the page, as he casually pulled the letter from the school owl. "Detention, Tuesday, 3:30."

Ron idly looked over and read it aloud over Harry's shoulder. "Blimey, how do you get all these?"

"Mouthing off, mainly," Harry said, resolving to hew to his course.

Hermione Granger piped up saying, "Harry, you really need to be more respectful. Always mouthing off just gets you in trouble."

The boys cheerfully avoided paying any attention to her, Ron saying, "He couldn't have waited until Monday to tell you?"

Harry cracked back, "Probably just wants to ruin my weekend."

Both boys chuckled; so, Hermione Granger scowled, which just made the boys chuckle harder.

Saturday Morning Quiddich practice was an exercise in discipline. Harry was not going to catch the snitch. Harry was going to work through a full chapter of 3rd year charms. If he could only learn how to wave his broom to produce magic... wow! That could be useful, particularly since it wasn't particularly safe to use a wand while on a broom. And besides, nobody would really be looking for him to cast spells out of a magic broomstick.

Below, the captain called out routines and gambits, the chasers and the beaters playing against each other. Harry winced as he saw a close call.

Harry had done more than completed that chapter - he'd started on the next one too! Feeling gratified, he felt a lot more like spending time with Ron Weasley.

... unfortunately, Ron seemed like he was going to prove incapable of forgetting about the stupid trapdoor. Harry'd not have minded it nearly so much if it was Neville, who had a solid head on his shoulders and a degree in risk mitigation. Hell, he still hadn't managed to get into a scrap with Malfoy, and Malfoy'd been _trying_ to hit Gryffindor nerves all year!

And, of course, with his standard lack of tact, Ron was talking about this at the luncheon table. Harry just wanted to slap him quiet, leave a nice red handprint on his face. Instead, he began idly dreaming about alembics...

[a/n: wrote myself into boring. Sorry, will escape as soon as possible.

Leave a review, please]


	64. Sunday

Sunday dawned so early for Harry that he was able to get a note penned and on a school owl in plenty of time to return to the Gryffindor common room and poach a third year Runes text. He'd decided, eventually, that just hoping that people would leave their books out forever was rather ridiculous, so he'd been trying to create a library under the giant red-orange couch.

Of course, that lasted until about mid-day, when Percy Weasley summoned his lost Arithmancy book with an Accio. Hm, Harry thought, I'm going to have to do a better job... Of course, by midday, Harry'd been playing exploding snap with Ron. Ron still wanted to talk about the three headed dog, but Harry really didn't have good memories of dogs.

Or adventures, for that matter.

Of course, Harry had to remind himself that he was a Gryffindor, so he was expected to do these things. He, well reminded, laid into them with fervor. As if it would be easy for a few first years to defeat something that outweighed them by about five times.

* * *

That night, Harry met with Zambini, quickly outlining the plan in a deserted coatroom right off the main entrance. "What do you want for your help?" Harry asked. Zambini stuck his hands in his pockets, affecting nonchalance, "Haven't thought it through properly yet." He said, "So, let's do this the Slytherin way."

"What's that?" Harry asked guardedly.

"We'll cast the Iuncturam, and then when the deal's been properly concluded, we'll sever it." Zambini says.

"What does it do, really?" Harry asked.

Zambini responds, "Nothing, really. It's just a way of formally sealing it."

"Can you have more than one at once?" Harry queried

"Loads. I don't think there's any limit." Zambini said, "there is another spell for revealing whether a person has debts, or whether two people have a shared debt."

Harry nodded firmly, "sounds fair. Time's burning, let's be away."

Zambini and Harry cast the spells, the binding glowing green as they clasped each other's biceps

[a/n: Leave a review?]


	65. Christmas Monday

Alembics and retorts, calcinators and mortars and pestles - Harry'd gotten more than he'd ever dreamed of. And, even better, the owls had obeyed when he'd requested them to deliver it to this small room. (Well, he'd had to sleep here to make sure that they showed up, but still...). He had a pile of potions ingredients strewn across the floor (still wrapped), and three different cauldrons (He'd get more as necessary).

He already knew what he wanted to make first, but before then, he needed to have all this... hidden away. Luckily, the Weasley twins were willing to cast any sort of illusionary spells for a suitable bribe, so he'd been their guinea pig on turning into a scabrous, shambling horror. Really did a number on Ron, that one did. Neville, curiously enough, didn't look scared at all. When asked, Neville had responded, "You didn't look hungry, is all." And Neville, being a bit on the chubby side, sure did know hunger, now didn't he?

Harry's transfiguration skills were small, if growing, and so when he started to make shelves and places to store all of this wealth and industry, he used the bricks of the castle itself, extended alternate ones into crude shelves. The bricks liked to hold things, after all.

It took hours before he had everything settled, and he could start...

Shite! It's time for class! I even managed to miss breakfast!

Harry Potter raced downstairs in his still rumpled robes, plummeting past Ollie who was surprised to see that Harry could move faster on foot than on a broom. Well, relatively speaking.

Harry's pell-mell pace didn't stop him from giving Malfoy a shove as he went past, the other boy stumbling as Potter hit him with the force of a rocket.

Harry's face developed into a wide grin as Malfoy shouted curses at him from behind.

"Coward!" was Potter's only response, although the insult was softened irredeemably by the wild gales of laughter that followed. Harry Potter was in too good a mood to be upset. This was better than Christmas. This was all his, and would remain his. No Dudley to take it, no Vernon to smash it. No obligations, no strictures - just whatever he wanted to do.

Freedom, now found in jars of flobberworms and pixie wings.

[a/n: Thank Oblivion for the Alchemical glasswork.

Harry's in rather a good mood. Probably won't last.

Leave a review?]


	66. Extended Detention

"Tough luck, mate," Ron said cheerily, "Still, better you than me." Because Ron apparently had no concept of empathy.

Harry Potter wanted to skip down to detention, he was on tenterhooks wanting to know what was going to happen.

However, since nobody skipped down to detention - not even the Twins, who might have done just to get on Snape's nerves, Harry quieted his steps and walked, trying idly to imitate the groundeating stride that Snape always used. He thought he was getting the hang of it, mostly, except of course for the fact that he was short, and so only managed to do "moderately fast" rather than "nearly running".

The dungeons seemed to close around him like a straightjacket, and Harry nestled into them comfortably, keeping to the walls and moving quickly towards his detention.

At the door, Harry took a moment to straighten his collar, attempt to subjugate his atrocious hair, and straighten his robes. He gave a loud knock, and Snape responded with a laconic, "Enter."

Snape looked at Harry as Harry entered and shut the door, careful not to stop looking in Snape's general direction. Animals could smell fear, couldn't they? Well, it wasn't as if Harry was afraid of Prof. Snape, but he didn't want to give the impression he was either. "I'm here for my detention, sir." Harry said softly.

Snape merely stood and pointed, waiting until Harry's head turned to the fifteen cauldrons (some looking nearly full of colloidal sludge), "You know what to do."

Harry Potter did, working up a good lather while scrubbing, knowing his arms were going to be hurting him soon because of all this labor. Still, that was the way one trained, wasn't it? Pity he wasn't doing boxing, that would have made all this upper body work even more worthwhile. While he worked, he thought about his mission with Zambini. He badly, very badly, wanted the detention to be over quickly, as he was truly impatient to get a look at his erstwhile bullies.

Harry finished in record time, though Snape looked like Harry couldn't have impressed him if he'd finished in a tenth of the time. "You may go." Snape said shortly, "You can serve the rest of your time on Thursday next." Harry nodded, leaving the classroom and shutting the door quietly behind him. He was off at a trot, moving like a scared fawn, hurrying away from a predator.

Footfalls sounded behind him, and Harry grinned. This was it - they'd figured out he could dodge them if they laid an ambush. So they were following him, to catch and capture and gobble him up! Or at least pummel him into the ground.

Harry moved faster, as he turned Left, then right, crossed three corridors, and then doubled back with a Right Left Right.

There! Zambini! Harry tagged him, as the "Clad in Gryffindor Colors" Slytherin continued on, doing his best to match the slighter, smaller boy's pace. Harry, meanwhile, ducked into the dark corridor, flattening himself against the wall.

Rosier, Lovechild, Boyle, Priestley, Langley, Norwich, and that girl whom Harry always forgets her name. Mouse brown hair and all.

Deep in the shadows, Harry's face curls into a dark, wicked grin. _I've got you now!_ He thinks. Not so far away, he can hear the Slytherins loudly yelling at Blaise about wearing a Gryffindor uniform. These weren't the smartest of the bunch, they might not even figure out that there was a plan afoot.

[a/n: Erm. Harry. You're kinda stepping on Snape's plans. That's a worse idea than stepping on his toes.

Leave a review?]


	67. Potions!

Harry Potter wasn't going to plan his revenge on a Wednesday. No, a good and proper revenge took time, and he definitely didn't have that on Wednesdays. Instead, he decided to brew, as that was the subject he was furthest behind in. He hadn't managed to make one perfect potion the whole year, and even though that was a deliberate move, it still chafed. He rolled his sleeves up, and got down to work.

Chopping and dicing were familiar tasks to him, though he had to consult his dusty potions book to find the exact proportions demanded. For potions was a far more exact science than cooking - rather like baking, it was the proportions, the timing, the precision.

As Harry stirred the bubotuber pus into his cauldron, he wore a soft smile, which only got larger as he added the pixie wings. It wasn't that he was making something difficult, ti was that he was making something Right.

When you've spent the last month deliberately breaking the rules, it feels good to actually make something perfect.

Burn Salve, one of the easiest potions of all time, and yet Harry felt a strong satisfaction as he decanted it. He studied a flame, wondering if he could or should burn himself, just a bit, just enough to test this.

Eventually, he blew the flame out, concluding that Seamus was likely enough to get someone to burn, in one class or another.

Slipping the potion into his belt, he gently shut the door, walking back to the common room

"Oi! where've you been?" Ron asked cheerily, ducking another of his brothers' experiments.

"Out walking." Harry responded blandly. Always best to chose something boring, if you had to lie.

[a/n: Leave a review?]


	68. So much trouble

Harry Potter found his Thursday filled with potions. But not the bubbling, roiling ones in his "secret" lab (It was an open question how secret a lab could be, if you didn't really know any concealing spells more complicated than NoticeMeNot).

No, he was making spelling mistakes, ink blotches (okay, so most of those weren't intentional), and otherwise making a poorly written, bollixed up mess of an assignment to turn in. He didn't want to look any different from the rest of the Gryffindors, after all, and they'd all been sliding in class, goofing off outside of it. Well, Harry felt he was a decent mimic, and if this was what everyone else was doing, well, he wanted to blend in.

He'd seen what happened to Hermione Granger, after all - the Gryffindor who was brave to the point of being mildly crazy.*

After he was done goofing off with the assignment (He knew he could have answered everything perfectly, but that was Ravenclaw conduct, and sure to raise some eyebrows in a Gryffindor, who were widely supposed to be affable and a mite bit dumb.), he strolled over to the Weasley Twins, and said, "I've got a proposition for you."

"We'll listen, but not here." One of the twins said, glancing with some chagrin at Percy, who was sitting not terribly far away. "Try right by the kitchens, at 7 tommorrow."

"I'll - " Harry stopped mid word, saying "But, where's the kitchens?!"

The twins smirked, saying, "Okay, then we'll grab you. Head for the dungeons, and we'll show you the way." And, both because this was Forge and Gred, and because he did really need their help, he nodded. Why couldn't they have just told him where to meet them?

Because they thrived on chaos and misery, that's why. Hm. that line had potential. Pity he wasn't a Slytherin that could use it. Maybe he could sell it to someone _not_ named Malfoy.

Harry stood, whistling a little as he headed for the door, only to have Ron tag along, like a faithful pet. "Where're we going?" Ron asked, as if unaware of what a pest he was being. Still, Harry supposed you could hardly hate a dog for palling around after you if you had never bothered to try and get it to quit.

*Harry! You're one to talk! Private to the point of paranoia, anyone?

[a/n: Leave a review?]


	69. Dodging Bullets

Harry got out of Detention that Thursday relatively quickly. Wouldn't want to make the bullies wait, now would I? More importantly, Snape seemed the type to take some sort of revenge, if I stayed too late. So, everything scrubbed, a pleasant burn in my arms, and a dash across the dungeons. Make that through the dungeons, strewing mayhem in my wake. Harry had to bite his own lip to stop from laughing. It was far more pleasant to beat the bullies at their own game, than it was to deal with a chest full of fist, or a kidney full of bootprint.

Quidditch was late that day, so Harry was up in the sky - even after his detention. The twins and Ollie seemed happy to see him, and happier to have him running 'drills'. He was quite glad that none of the other seekers were watching him practice (apparently other teams were banned from observing practices), because he was most certainly not doing real drills. Instead, he was practicing the NoticeMeNot spell, except using his entire body to cast the word in the clouds. It might not actually be possible to cast the spell like that, but it sure did a lot for his memory.

After Quiddich, he showered and rushed up to his still, ready to add the powdered moonstone and then decant the liquid. It was his first time with a perfect potion, and Harry grinned at the accomplishment, bottling it into three bottles, and putting one in the rack, while setting the other two aside for medikits.

Always prepared made a good watchword.

[a/n: welcome to HarryWorld! Seriously, he doesn't actually mind the detentions, though you'd have to use thumbscrews to get him to admit that. Leave a review.]


	70. The books are lovely, dark and deep

Harry Potter was continually amazed at what he was able to find in the Hogwarts Library. Of course, he had to be careful when he was in there - too early an Madame Pince would notice. In the middle of the day, well, Granger might notice, or half a dozen assorted Ravenclaws (mostly third years and above, but He was HARRY POTTER, and thus noticeable even though he was probably the smallest child at the school. Well, that and his unkempt hair, that stubbornly stayed in a squirrelsnest configuration).

His best bet was to wander in somewhere near dinnertime - even Granger tended to remember to eat, and Harry was skilled at squirreling away food licketysplit. He could stuff his face in seconds, but it was quicker still to use the pockets in his robes - a few slices of bread here, a dash of fruit there.

He needed to find a decent nook in the library - having spent most mornings in the Gryffindor common room, he hadn't nearly as much experience here. All he wanted was a place he wouldn't be noticed by browsing Ravenclaws. Eventually, having gone through about half the library, he settled in a corner that had dusty books all about. He noticed they were on fashion and palimpsets, a strange and yet appropriate pairing.

Harry had the books he wanted already, of course - lovely, dark and deep books that spun out the effects of their spells and potions at length. One part fantasy, one part wish-fulfullment, Harry was looking intently for something that he could pull off - and most importantly, _not get caught_.

Somehow the Weasley twins were managing to prank people - and a lot of their mischief involved eating or drinking something in the Great Hall, so he could likely bribe the way they were doing it out of them.

And, oh! The dark potions spelled on the page! Mind control, lust, greed, even pride. There were ones that were... lighter, ones that would merely poison, or scald, or freeze. But Harry? Harry wanted to make these bullies pay, and to do that they had to lose control. They had to be just as Harry was, a small, frightened beastie without knowledge of why or more importantly how, they were in danger.

Fear. Fear was what Harry wanted. He started to read about a potion that guaranteed the drinker at least ten white hairs... even for a babe of eleven.

Yes, this would do nicely, Harry thought, bookmarking the page and reading onwards.

Harry had a target already picked out and everything. The middle girl, not the eldest, not the most powerful, not the weakest, either. That one, the most ordinary girl there. Not the hated one, or the well-liked, just an ordinary Slytherin.

[a/n: um. so Harry's not exactly the type to take bullying lying down.

Leave a review?]


	71. Any question is a betrayal

Harry Potter woke the next morning early as usual, curling up in his potions lab for once, sifting through the books. As he'd woken, he'd thought that fear might not be the best way to target the Slytherins. No, he wanted something... more fearsome. Particularly, he wanted to take away their ability to be confident in their own decisions.

Maybe... maybe make a few of them _for_ the bullies?

Actions they'd regret, and that they'd not be able to explain to themselves?

It couldn't be an Unforgiveable, but if he looked quickly and surely enough - the babbling potion took away willpower, it is possible that other, limited potions might steer people towards what he wanted.

Five hundred pages

a thousand pages.

Harry'd never disliked reading, but this was giving him an awful headache.

Finally, he came to the potion he liked best in the book, and reading ten past it, decided it was a keeper.

Now all he had to do was figure out how Forge and Gred actually smuggled potions into people's food. And, of all the things, he couldn't be seen to be asking about it. Getting a private potions lab set up was trouble enough. He'd have to prove himself useful to Quiddich by giving team mates ointments. Maybe he could even sell them? To the twenty people playing who weren't in Slytherin, at any rate. That was a ridiculously low customer base, even if they'd need it daily. And only Ollie had daily practices, right before the match.

Well that, and brew the potion of course.

[a/n: Whee! I get to do a timeskip, I think. No more "daily updates!" Yay! Leave a review!]


	72. SecretKeeping

Harry knew that the best way to learn secrets was to be too useful not to know them. And so, he found himself aiding the Twins, as a willing servant. He needed to know how they got these potions and other concoctions into people's food.

Plus, they were quite a bit more entertaining than Ron, and being around them didn't set off people's "NotGryffindor" bells like being around Percy, or Granger, or Longbottom.

So this was how he was standing, with wisps of green flame in a bucket, waiting to toss it down on the first person to descend the leftmost staircase in the castle. (How there was even a leftmost staircase was an open question).

It was Seamus, and he looked up, as those green flames blazed yellow - his natural fire inclination warding him from the detrimental effects of the liquid. "Good one Harry," He called genially, as he headed down the stairs.

That was the thing about Seamus, he truly didn't mind getting pranked. Oh, he might get a bit more watchful, but it was never about avoiding them. What a big hearted kid.

As Harry headed down to breakfast (how many days had he been here? he was starting to lose track. Maybe if he switched to months...), Ron wanted to talk with him about the upcoming Quiddich game - to wish him luck, sure, but also to give him tactical advice. Tomorrow he would play, and he kind of wanted to tell Ron that Ollie knew better tactics anyway. But Potter bit his tongue, sure that Ron would take offense. And, as he didn't plan on continuing his association with the Twins past when he got what he needed, he still needed Ron to like him. Had he really overheard Ron referring to Harry as his best friend?

Harry's mind still boggled at the thought of Ron Weasley as a friend, and not just because Harry wasn't used to having friends.

[a/n: Coming back to the bookplot briefly. Then we'll get back to Harry's plot, and ... well, maybe Snape will show up (Snape's current plots are longrunning things). Leave a review?]


	73. Wasn't working

Nearly two months now, Harry'd been in Hogwarts. He was beginning to reconsider his subjugation by the twins... instead of learning their secrets, he had become one of their secrets - sent as an errand boy instead of whatever they had been using before. Maybe he could... No, he couldn't even back out of this, because he wasn't one of the studious brats. He was a Carefree Gryffindor, as malicious and merry as the day is long.

Really, his potion was almost done - and that was one of the few bright spots in his life. The smells of immiscible liquids burbling together, melting stone and crushed bugs, the licks of flames under the cauldrons... Potions was a deceptively simple art - the subtleties were likely to burn you if you weren't sharp.

This wasn't even a hard potion, nevermind that it was not in any of the assigned reading. Harry'd thought it was properly something about third year or so.

Halloween was coming up soon, and Harry wanted this to be done by then. It would be the perfect time to use it.

If only he could figure out _how_.

He wanted to punch something, but instead, he opened up a book and began to read. Ever since he had started the potions lab, he'd taken to absconding with a book or two, if he could identify whose it was, from the Gryffindor common room. It wasn't perfect (they needed to be returned within days, generally), but Gryffindors didn't care about books when they didn't have homework, so it mostly got the job done.

Harry was improving, and he hoped by the end of the year to at least consider himself... proficient enough to stop anyone stupid enough to try something. Because, really, what 7th year student would be caught dead harassing a firstie? (Correct answer: Slytherins. But he had a plan for those too). He'd consider himself up to snuff if he could manage a third year with ease. Well, that and protect his mind. He still hadn't done anything towards Occlumency, mostly because this potion kept taking up inordinate amounts of his time.

[a/n: Da-duh-duh!]


	74. Halloween

Harry's potion was finally done, finished just two days before Halloween. He had a week to use it, but had already started on another batch. There was no telling how or when he'd manage to talk the twins out of their secrets. Of course, he could be a _Gryffindor_ and ask. But that'd take away all the fun, and the twins wouldn't tell him just for the asking either. Having done so much free work for them had its detriments.

* * *

Of course, Halloween itself promised to be a chore. The day before, he had belatedly realized there was going to be a Halloween feast - except that it wasn't Halloween so much as "That Time You-Know-Who Kicked the Bucket" Day. Oh, sure there was the rest of the holiday, but that was what they were really celebrating.

Which was just _creepy_ when you thought about it.

Harry considered putting up a Roman "Happy Death Day Lord Voldemort" banner somewhere in the great hall (putting it up around the Slytherins would be too much on the nose, but maybe he could put it up behind the high table - so everyone could see it before Snape tore it down). No that's a bad plan. This year, at least.

His parents had died that day, after all. He supposed he should have one time to mourn them. Not this year, though - everyone was headed to the feast, and so he had to go too. He couldn't even visually protest by wearing all black. Hmm... maybe Tyrian Purple? And then go through the rigamarole of explaining that he was in fact related to the Thai Emperor, and as such was choosing to represent his heritage by mourning for his parents in the ancestral mourning color.

While therapeutic, these thoughts weren't really helping Harry Potter deal with anything. He would so much rather have had vengeance to savor on the night his parents had died.

He had a feeling they'd have approved of that, somehow.

Harry Potter was in charms, having mastered the spell ages ago and bored out of his mind. Hermione Granger was once again showing off to the rest of the class - and helping Ron Weasley, who had the misfortune of sitting beside her. She helped him the entire class, and he barely managed to lift the feather. Harry had managed to lift it just slightly, and was playing around with darting it across the table at warp ten. It was good practice for finetuning your magic, something that Hermione Granger seemed to never practice.

As they were walking out the door (Harry with Ron, as always), Ron said, "She's such a know it all, it's no wonder she doesn't have any friends." Harry Potter heard Hermione behind them stifling a sob, and he turned to say something - only to hear her running off down a corridor.

Ron said, "Come on, we'll be late for Transfiguration." Harry wanted to tell Ron off, and sharply, but didn't really dare. He silently resolved that he'd find _some_ way... some way of ...

* * *

In transfiguration, when Hermione Granger didn't show up, Harry excused himself to use the bathroom (McGonagall looked at him like she thought bodily control was something you learned before the age of eleven.), and spent half the class wandering up to various girls' bathrooms and knocking. None of them seemed to work, and Harry though that before the feast, he'd try seeing if he could get one of the girls to talk with Hermione, who was probably up in her room.

[a/n: This Harry cares a bit more about people getting their feelings trod on, even if he doesn't know her very well. _Besides_ , it's a good way to _get_ to know her... which has been on his agenda for a _while_...

Leave a review, next chapter's the troll.]


	75. The feast

Harry Potter had gotten Angelina (one of the few girls he knew enough to ask a favor from) to go look for Hermione in the girls' dorm. He'd said that she owed him a bit of homework help, and should have been down ten minutes ago. All lies, but far better than having Angelina go in pitying the bushyheaded girl.

Angelina had resurfaced a good eight minutes later, saying that Hermione Granger wasn't there.

Harry Potter wanted to kick something. He also wanted to apologize to Hermione for the implication that he believed anything that Ron The Weasel said. Harry was just about to set out looking in the library, when Ron caught up to him, "It's time for Feast! Halloween Feast!" He babbled childishly, and Harry had the sudden realization that he'd have to go to the feast. Now. Not in an hour once he'd found out wherever Hermione was hiding (which, in his opinion, was a far more interesting task).

So down to the Halloween Feast they went, with bats and pumpkins and the usual ghosts acting spookier than usual (popping their heads out from the middle of the tables, and whatnot). And there was food galore. But this was Hogwarts, and there was always too much food to eat. Harry hadn't wondered before where it went (so long as he had an apple or something else to eat between meals), but he was starting to...

Lavender sat down and looked at Ron. "You know she's still in the bathroom right? Crying?"

"Which one?" Harry couldn't stifle the question, even if it did give away his interest. Instead it just popped out. He wanted to clap a hand over his traitorous mouth.

"Second floor... the one that floods frequently." Lavender said.

"How did she...?" Harry muttered, confused as to how she had managed to be there, though of course he wouldn't have checked that lav, as it was probably the worst one in the school to hide in. Who wanted soaked shoes on top of everything else?

Ron was looking a bit pale. "I meant what I said - she doesn't have any friends."

Neville looked up, and said, "I don't think she knew that..." Which was exactly what Harry had wanted to say, and he made a mental note to reward the shy boy, somehow.

Suddenly, their DADA professor, Quirrel, entered from a side door, waving his hands wildly, "Troll! Troll in the dungeons! Thought you ought to know!" At which point the utterly useless man collapsed in a dead faint.

The Headmaster stood, but Harry's eyes watched Severus Snape, their potions professor, as he glided out a side door near the High Table. Now where was he going...?

"Everyone is to return to their dormitories, while the teachers investigate this strange occurrence." The headmaster said grandly, and Harry just wanted to strangle him. It was an accident, it was a threat, it was clearly Something that was _not_ a strange occurrence.

As most of the room erupted into chatter and standing students, Ron put a hand on Harry Potter's arm, and said urgently, "Hermione."

Shite, Harry Potter thought. We have to go rescue her, don't we?

It's the _Gryffindor_ thing to do!

[a/n: reviews?]


	76. Not THIS stupid!

_It wasn't supposed to be this stupid,_ Harry thought, as his mind began to whirl. He turned towards Ron, who was already standing up, and Harry caught sight of Draco Malfoy (for god's own reason beside the Gryffindor table - probably running a note to Snape... who had disappeared, come to think of it. Were they in on this... somehow?).

"Malfoy, come along," Harry Potter said, attempting to sound authoritative.

"What? WHY?! We're supposed to..." Draco Malfoy trailed off, starting to look suspicious.

"Because now you know we're not, and you're not going to tell anyone, so if we get in trouble, we'll blame it on you."

"What?! HOW?!" Draco Malfoy said, starting to bizarrely resemble an owl.

"We'll tell anyone who asks that you knew and didn't say anything, and that we trusted you to go to a Prefect."

"... and if I do tell someone?" Draco Malfoy asked suspiciously.

"They won't believe you, after that stunt you pulled with that duel." Harry smiled, though the stretching took an effort and he wasn't sure how wolfish it looked.

Ron, meanwhile, had recovered from his doggish "follow the pingpong" between Malfoy and Potter, and said, "We don't need a slimy Slytherin!"

Harry smiled, looking at Ron, and whispered (loud enough for Malfoy to hear), "Sure we do... as _bait_."

Draco Malfoy's face turned almost purple at that comment, and he said, "What in blazes do you plan on doing?"

"Rescuing Hermione." Harry said with a smile that took entirely too much satisfaction out of Draco Malfoy's astonishment. "Now come along, before you get in _more_ trouble."

Draco Malfoy, as twitchy as he looked, asked skeptically, "You won't get me in trouble if I come with you?"

"No more than we're in ourselves, at least." Harry Potter answered honestly, trying to project confidence. He'd rather have three people doing something stupid rather than two. There was strength in numbers at any rate.

They followed the Hufflepuffs out the main entrance (the Gryffindors still getting assembled, and the Ravenclaws long gone), and slipped into a passageway as quickly as they could.

Harry Potter (the best at layouts among them) maneuvered them quickly towards the girls' bathroom, the whole time cursing himself for a ornery cussed fool. He calmed himself, again and again, with the thought, "If you're going to do something, run the table." Besides, Hermione Granger was his, she just didn't know it yet. If only he'd actually been prioritizing properly, he'd have already cultivated a friendship with her. He'd _meant_ to, certainly. She was too useful to let die for no reason whatsoever.

[a/n: Reviews? This Harry is well aware of how stupid he's being. What he's not aware of? Asking other people for help. He's blackmailing Malfoy into doing this - if you're going to get in trouble anyway, why not have some fun being completely irresponsible first?

Spoiler:

Malfoy is _not_ joining the party. This is a one time thing that Harry figured out, and flimflammed his way through convincing Draco Malfoy of.

Plus, Ron still hates Draco Malfoy.

Not that Harry cares about Ron, _but_...]


	77. Felt it

They were three corridors away when Harry felt the floor shake beneath him. Ron and Malfoy were still squabbling, Malfoy whining, "I don't see why we need to tell her, the troll is in the basement."

"Not Anymore." Harry said harshly, his voice coming out as half hiss half growl. He'd recognized the shaking - it was just like Dudley, when he was in a hurry. Only, these were stone floors, not wood, and thus that troll had to be obscenely huge. 300 stone? Maybe more.

"We'd better hurry." Harry said, shaking off Ron's questions and Malfoy's silent accusatory stare.*

They had reached the final corridor, running towards the girls' bathroom, when they heard the grunting from behind them. As one, they whirled, looking at the biggest and ugliest humanoid that they'd ever seen. It had a club, a huge thing with metal nails sticking out of it. And it was shuffling quickly towards them.

This was bad, Harry thought, trying to summon a spell. He hadn't, though, hadn't learned combat against magic-resistant creatures.

Ruthlessly, he cut off that train of thought. It doesn't matter. Find something that works.

Now that they'd all gone quiet, Harry could see the troll moving its nose about and snuffling for them. As if it couldn't rightly see.

And that gave him an Idea!

Closing his eyes, he mentally replayed a spell the twins had used, that he'd never had the chance to try before. "Odor Magnus!" Harry said, nearly shouting it. Turning to the other boy, he said the same thing.

"I need you two to run, get help." _Or, serve as bait - really, same difference, right?_ Harry said urgently. If trolls liked to eat humans, well, he'd just made these two smell like pork roast. Like the best pork roast that he'd ever eaten (and that was the only dish Aunt Petunia ever made right). With luck, he'd even infused the scent with his own appetite.

To no one's suprise, Draco Malfoy hadn't waited a moment to turn to the left and dash down the corridor.

Ron was a different story. "You want me to just Leave you?"

"I can distract it for a little bit. I need you to get backup." Harry said, his voice tight under the strain of holding both spells.

"But..."

"Just do it, already!" Harry snapped, and Ron ran off.

Of course, distracting a full grown mountain troll was easier said than done. Harry curled himself into a ball near the doorjamb, frantically reciting to himself, I'm small, I'm little, I'm in the dark. It was a mantra, a mental focus.

The troll drew ever nearer.

*Stare is really just supposed to get people to fess up.

[a/n: I do so love reviews. won't you write one?]


	78. Accidental Magic

Harry Potter had begun by reading about the magic he could already do. He'd read that "accidental" magic was a misnomer - that it was really "unreplicatable" magic, called an accident to prevent parents from unjustly punishing their children. But there was more to the story - for most children's magic was unreplicatable simply because children were inherently beings of whimsy. What they wanted with all their heart changed from moment to moment, and was impossible to bribe or cajole into the same form again.

Harry Potter knew he was different in this regard - he'd channeled his "accidental" magic through the same path, again and again and again. Quiet, Unnoticeable, Small, Harmless. It was the reason, he often suspected, that Uncle Vernon had not hurt him badly. Had been upset, sure, but had never lashed out with his belt, as he'd often threatened to do.

So when Harry Potter pulled on the magic he knew _best_ , the one he'd been using for _years_... The Troll stopped, snuffling from side to side, smelling those ripe roast dinners one in each direction.

And, it would have worked, had Harry been alone there.

Unfortunately, Harry had neglected one important detail: Hermione Granger.

When given a choice between two extremely appetizing, but far away goals, a cat will pause and do nothing. So, too, did the Troll - until it smelled Hermione Granger.

The club hit bare inches away from Harry Potter, and he flung himself out and behind the troll. His wand was in his hand, and he had no idea what to do. His mind scrambled, and he tried to cast a Confundus spell. Unfortunately, it did worse than nothing, leaving the troll spinning around with his club, smashing bathroom stalls and leaving Hermione Granger staring at him, - no, at the Troll.

* * *

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy had made it to the third floor corridor, running as quickly as he could, not sparing the breath for shouting. Thus, Severus Snape, slamming a door closed at the end of the hall, glanced up to see his godson running pell mell down the corridor that the Headmaster had promised would lead to an untimely death. Snape had no sooner opened his mouth than Draco had turned around, running as swiftly away from his Head of House as he'd run towards him.*

Severus Snape followed, hot on Malfoy's heels.

* * *

"Troll!" Hermione shouted, and Harry suppressed the urge to snap at her, _I know that, you twit!_ Lips compressed, Harry remembered how he'd manage to dodge the beast. It was slow _and_ stupid. Harry braced himself for impact before charging the Troll, laying a punch that he imagined was as good as BA might be able to land. It hit hard, busting Harry's knuckles as the Troll turned around.

"Hermione! Run!" Harry said, dancing out of the Troll's way.

Run she did, "Anti-magic resistant hide..." she said firmly, still working through the problem as Harry danced over shattered bathroom stalls, turning the beast as Harry sped around the bathroom.

"Alohomora!" Hermione Granger said, her voice sounding as firm and crisp as McGonagall's herself. Harry hadn't time to think about what that meant, as he was darting back, turning the other way. It was a good thing he kept moving, as the Troll gave a startled grunt, and flattened yet more bathroom stalls as he fell unconscious.

Harry paused, at that, approached cautiously, giving the Troll a little kick. "Out for the count, it looks like," Harry said with a wide grin. "How'd you do that, Granger?"

"It's resistant to magic, not gravity." Hermione Granger said, and they both collapsed in relieved laughter, tinged with just a hint of hysteria.

* * *

Ron Weasley had found his Head of House, and was busy gesturing and attempting (through his exhausted lungs) to be articulate. Minerva McGonagall had eventually managed to decipher danger and fault, and headed swiftly in the direction that Mister Weasley had been pointing, unsure as to what she'd find. Her long, groundeating stride brought her swiftly towards her destination, Ron jogging to keep up.

* * *

"What in Merlin's name is going on here?" Snape snapped as he turned round a bend, finding his godson skidding to a halt in front of two Troll feet, a demolished girls' bathroom entrance, and Hermione Granger.

"I'm sorry, sir," Hermione said, "It's all my fault, really. I wanted to see the troll, and these boys just followed to make sure I didn't get in too much trouble."

"Draco?" Severus Snape said gravely, his eyes scanning his heretofore understood godson with a sharpness that they'd never had before.

Before Mister Malfoy could get out a word, Harry Potter jumped onto the Troll's leg, and calmly walked the way down to his foot, before jumping off. "It's my fault he's here." The lack of sir did more than just put Severus Snape's teeth on edge this time - for he had finally realized what Potter was doing. It was active disrespect, the pause that in Snape's detention he'd fill with sir. He was actively disrespecting a teacher in front of other students. It was not to be tolerated.

"You are willing to take his punishment, then?" Severus Snape ground out, his temper, always short, now just eyeblinks from combusting.

"Yes." Harry Potter said, his eyes looking up to meet Severus Snape's.

"What in the world happened here?" Minerva McGonagall said, at last reaching the scene. "And what's this talk of punishment? Severus Snape, you know very well that disciplinary issues not in a classroom setting are my domain for my students."

"Your student has selflessly offered to take the punishment that I would give Mister Malfoy." Severus Snape ground out, "I feel inclined to allow this."

"What punishment?" Minerva McGonagall asked, only to watch in suspension as Snape played with his dinner.

"Oh, I wonder, what punishment should I give for endangering other students, fighting a full-grown mountain troll, and failure to follow orders or to respect one's teachers?" Severus Snape said, and Harry wanted to let his head fall, to look abjectly ashamed of himself.

"It was the right thing to do." Harry Potter said forthrightly, a good deal of him shrinking at putting it like that.

"That will be fifty points from each of you, and you'll all get a detention apiece." Minerva McGonagall said, "That includes Mister Malfoy."

As Snape turned thunderous eyes on her, Minerva McGonagall looked back, unimpressed. "If you like, we can take this up with the Headmaster..." she said archly.

"What you propose is fair, at least." Snape said grudgingly, "Hopelessly inadequate, of course, but fair." Snape sent all the children a look that said plainly, "I'll be watching you" and "You'll pay for this,"

Snape strode away in a swirl of black robes, but that wasn't what had caught Harry's attention. It was the trail of blood on the floor - small drops of it, spattering the way Snape had come.

"Will he be alright?" Harry asked, doing his best to look like an innocent kid, as he bent over the Troll. Quickly he breathed a cleansing spell, erasing the blood from the halls. It wasn't permanent, so Snape would still be trailing blood, but at least people wouldn't realize where he'd come from - the forbidden third floor corridor.

*Draco knows that Severus Snape can't stand having kids run away from him. He needn't even say "follow."

[a/n: Reviews rock my world! I love this chapter.]


	79. Troll

"I'm afraid the troll will have to return to the confines of the safe place where Professor Quirrel was keeping it." Minerva McGonagall said sternly. "I would like to remind you that wild creatures are not toys, and you are not to go about deliberately inciting them to create mayhem."

"Yes, ma'am." They all said together. Well, Ron and Harry managed contrite, Hermione looked like she was about to burst into tears, and Harry quite frankly thought that Draco Malfoy trying (and failing) to look apologetic was the most hilarious thing he'd ever seen or thought of.

"Now all of you are going to the hospital wing. Immediately." Minerva McGonagall said sternly.

"But..." Harry said, uncomfortable at even the idea of being inside _there_. He hated _nurses_ , hated people who knew more about him than he'd authorized telling them.

"Go, Mr. Potter, or do you need an escort?" Professor McGonagall said, and Ron hurriedly tugged Harry off. Harry didn't pay this much mind, not even to do his general cursing of the redhead's inability to respect personal space (which was a perennial problem). He was too absorbed in _reacting_.

And, strangely enough, it wasn't a reaction to what he'd thought. No, he wasn't upset at going to the infirmary. He figured it would be easy enough to strip and show that he wasn't hurt and felt well. Besides, he knew the basic diagnostics just looked at current state - and he _had_ been gaining weight. He _had_. It wasn't his fault that Petunia's diet food was awful. (And Harry's breakfasts were barely better than mediocre).

No, this was a reaction to _What had he been thinking?_ \- going after a fullgrown troll, something Quirrel, their defense teacher, seemed scared of! Suddenly, all the possible deaths that he could have endured leapt into his head, like a decision tree stretching off into infinity.

It was bedazzling. It was extremely scary.

Harry Potter wanted to have a panic attack, to sit and shake until the knowledge that he'd nearly killed something would sink in.

Unfortunately, he was beside Draco Malfoy, who, even if he didn't look so hot himself, would take that knowledge and use it for all it was worth.

Put plain, he still wasn't out of the woods, and he'd better act like it, if he wanted to get out of the infirmary with just a basic.

[a/n: yes, that last line is odd grammatically speaking. Deal. Harry's eleven.

Leave a review?]


	80. Fade

If there was one thing that Harry Potter was truly talented at, it was fading into the background. He told himself this with the surety of long practice, as he allowed himself to be two and a half steps behind Granger and Malfoy, both of whom were a step behind Ron. He was not going to fall another half step behind. It would draw attention. No, he was going to be small, and quiet, and fade into the background. With luck, arriving last would mean that the Nurse would treat everyone else first.

He only needed a minute or two, he hoped, to fall apart.

But he couldn't do it now, not now, not now, not now. He said the same two words over again, until they had actually reached the infirmary.

In fact, he was so preoccupied with that, and not shaking, not crying, not anything, that he failed to notice the people in front of him stopping. With the rather unfortunate effect that he ran straight into them.

It would have been alright if it was just Granger, Harry thought wistfully, as she turned around - less hurt than questioning.

Malfoy wasn't hurt in the slightest, but was apt to take offense, and Harry realized that he really didn't blame him for _that_. "What was that for, Potter?" Malfoy snapped, and Harry realized that he most certainly did blame Malfoy for being slow on the uptake. He couldn't possibly be hiding his feelings that well, could he?

Harry squared his shoulders, leaning forward a bit as his right foot dropped back, and he was about to bring up his hands when the Nurse bustled over, saying sharply, "That will be enough of that, now, boys. You are in a clinic, and I will make you stay here until you can stop injuring each other if necessary."

The sheer amount of time it might take to teach Malfoy patience - or to persuade Harry Potter to actually act like himself, had Harry paling at the threat.

Judging by Malfoy's own bluish pallor, he had similar thoughts (what? Harry surely didn't know).*

"You," The nurse said pointing at Harry, "Over there." She pointed at the far side of the infirmary, and Harry Potter suppressed a relieved sigh. He was over there before he scarcely noticed he was moving, pulling the curtains shut and curling up in the bed as if he was catatonic, except that he was shaking.

*Didn't want to be forced to apologize, most likely.

[a/n: It's a lot better to be afraid after than during. All's I'm gonna say. Leave a review if you please.]


	81. Harry's First Friend

By the time that the nagging had stopped, Harry had an idea for how to approach Hermione, without betraying to curious eyes things that he'd rather not be known by all and sundry.

The plan started with the library. And so, the next day crisp and early (because he was not going to procrastinate on such a good idea a moment longer), he was in the library, with a light bouncing ball - the sort that Madame Pince would hopefully not throw him out for.

Luckily, Hermione Granger appeared shortly after breakfast (which Harry'd skipped, he'd wanted the least number of people here for this). She seated herself and began wresting books from her large satchel. Harry spent a moment envying the space that she'd carved out for herself - when he studied, far earlier than this, he was tucked into a small nook, and didn't have space to have more than one book open.

Lightly, he bounced the ball on the table, and - not as anticipated, but at least it was funny - it promptly bounced and hit Hermione Granger on the forehead. She looked up in confusion. "Harry-?" Her eyes, if it was possible, looked even more confused, "Why are you throwing a ball in the library?"

"Take a walk with me, Hermione Granger." Harry Potter said, and smiled, trying to look reassuring.

"I'm busy. And I don't like playing ball." Hermione Granger said, and turned to go back to her book. Harry could practically see her hackles raising with every word.

Harry Potter was not going to let her do that. Oh, no, she was not just going to sit there. So, he did what anyone would do. He promptly shut the book, using both hands to close it.

"Hey! I was reading that! Now I've lost my place!" Hermione said, standing up, and with her hands on her hips.

Seeing that, Harry did the only logical thing. He whisked the book away. "Page 381, second paragraph if I'm lipreading right." he said, not that he knew lipreading at all. "But take a walk with me, and I'll give you the book back."

"And if I don't?" Hermione Granger said, eyes narrowed.

"Then I'll drive you crazy reciting snippets from it until I'm done reading it first." Harry Potter said, his voice flat and his face expressionless.

"Fine." Hermione said, stuffing three more books back into her bag, "You would, too, wouldn't you?" she asked, not expecting an answer.

Harry led Hermione down stairs, until it was apparent they were heading outside.

"Why are we going outside?" Hermione asked, a bit confused. Nobody ever asked her to do something as pleasant as take a walk outside with them. It wasn't done.

"It's a beautiful day. Is there any reason we shouldn't?" Harry parried with panache.

They weren't walking near the Quidditch pitch, which tended to attract people even when no one was practicing. No, they were ambling nearer the black lake, and Harry was still being as quiet as anything.

"Hermione, I've been meaning to speak to you. Do I have your word that you won't speak of anything we discuss here with anyone else?" Harry said formally.

Hermione frowned, slightly, and said, "So long as it isn't illegal, doesn't endanger your life, or others', and isn't utterly irresponsible."

"It won't be any of those, I hope." Harry Potter said lightly. And then he looked at Hermione, bringing them both to a stop.

"Hermione Granger, I would like to be your friend. I think you could use one." Harry Potter said, gravely.

"Me?! Why are you asking me?!" Hermione sputtered, "Besides, you're friends with Ron and he _hates_ me!"

"Ron's no friend of mine." Harry said firmly, the surety of his voice silencing Hermione's nearly spoken objection. "You see, I could use a friend too. Haven't really got any, myself." Harry said, sinking his hands into his pockets and looking up at a cloud in the sky, deliberately giving Hermione a chance to think before he evaluated her thoughts.

[a/n: Thoughts? I found this painfully awkward, and realistic, and really fun to read. Please review!

2nd chapter today.]


	82. More interesting that way

Of course, Hermione Granger wouldn't just let something rest. "What do you mean you're not friends with Ron?" Hermione said, her voice somehow sounding squawking, as she fought to keep her voice down while showing her incredulity.*

"I'm..." Harry put both hands behind his back, holding his left wrist with his right hand, "Using him as a stalking horse."

"A what?" Hermione asked.

"A stalking horse," Harry responded patiently, "Basically, doing what he does makes me seem more like a Gryffindor than I'd otherwise seem."

"But- you are a Gryffindor!" Hermione said, putting a hand on her hip, "I can see your tie!"

"About as much as you are, I reckon," Harry said, waiting until Hermione's eyes dropped, "You realize, it took me ages to convince the Hat to put me in Gryffindor?"

Hermione's eyes flashed up again, a glint of recognition in them, "You too?"

"Yeah, me too." Harry said, a trace of his real grin coming to the fore. "Thing is, and tell me if I'm wrong, I think you would have been in Ravenclaw."

"Yeah, that's right." Hermione said quickly, and then more slowly, "How'd you know?"

"I think the books kind of gave it away." Harry said.

"Hufflepuffs are hard workers, and I could be an ambitious Slytherin." Granger countered.

"If you were a Hufflepuff, you'd have put more effort into making friends, instead of sinking into books." Harry said.

"How do you know I wasn't about to be sorted into Slytherin?" Granger said.

"Because Slytherins are good at being sneaky and subtle." Harry said, lacing his hands behind his head, and looking up at the clouds in the sky, "Like me."

Hermione processed this in silence, which Harry was glad of, because he really didn't want to explain why he was a Slytherin. Or be told that it was impossible, or something like that.

"Why me?" Hermione said. "You've got to see _some_ advantage in this, right?"

"You're intelligent, perhaps the smartest kid in our year." Harry said, "And we could practice, learn together."

"You want to be study buddies?" Hermione said, "But you never study!"

"I do, actually. A lot. It's just... offhours." Harry said softly.

"I don't think we can just decide to be friends." Hermione said, frowning a bit, "But I'm willing to give it a try."

"Will you keep my secrets, even if we later decide, mutually, not to be friends?" Harry asked.

"Of course, provided they aren't dangerous to others or yourself." Hermione said.

"Mortally dangerous - a prank is fine to keep quiet about, isn't it?" Harry Potter asked.

"Sure. I like a good laugh as much as the next person." Hermione said.

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." Harry Potter said, smiling. "Now, I would like to suggest a mission."

"A mission? You've had this whole thing thought out already!" Hermione accused.

"Well, yes. Did you really think I wouldn't think something through the whole way?" Harry asked, "Do something on the spur of the moment?"

"Why a mission then?" Hermione said.

"Because it's more fun that way." Harry said, "And it's for the love of learning, so it's nothing silly or stupid."

"Okay." Hermione responded.

*god, I love writing intelligent Harry. Normal Harry doesn't get to use words like that.

[a/n: I love reviews! write me one, and I'll give you a new chapter, I promise.]


	83. Questing for Knowledge

"So what's this goal you have in mind?" Hermione asked, as they rounded the far side of the Black Lake.

In response, Harry tugged her into some tall rushes, quickly whispering a barrage of privacy spells.

"What-?" Hermione's eyes seemed to glow (which was a feat, because they were trunk-brown) with eagerness.

"Privacy charms," Harry Potter said, "Yes, I'll teach you them. But a few of them are complex, so we'll save them for another day."

Hermione had only half heard him, letting her eyelids droop as her fingers extended outwards, "These are... they're layered. How did you ever think of that?"

"Practice, practice, and of course, a lot of reading," Harry said, the pride evident in his voice.

Hermione's eyes blinked open, and her enthusiasm seemed to pin Harry against his own spells, as she looked at him with hunger in her eyes. "So, what's so secret that you can't even chance someone overhearing?"

"Did you know that our teachers can read our minds?" Harry asked quietly, somberly.

Hermione let out a giggle/guffaw, "I know the Twins say that about our Potions Professor! But - you can't really- they lie, a lot, you know?" Hermione's last sentence came out half stammered and half stuttered.

"I happen to have a bit better evidence than they do," Harry said.

"Did someone try to read your mind?" Hermione asked.

"No, at least i don't think so." Harry said firmly, "But, I was a little... paranoid, that first day."

"Your detention?" Hermione said, and Harry was glad of her acute memory.

"Not, exactly." Harry said, "More what I was doing that got me detention."

"What was that?" Hermione said.

"Thinking too loudly." Harry responded, looking chagrined. "Apparently that is quite distracting for said Potions Professor."

"I can see it, " Hermione said, "What strange and esoteric thoughts were you inflicting on him?"

"Pink elephants and biglipped alligators." Harry responded, and Hermione clapped her hands.

"Dumbo! How wonderful!"

"Professor Snape certainly didn't so." Harry said, looking somewhat grim and slightly sad.

"I want to study the art of hiding your mind," Harry continued. "But if there are books for it around, they're in the Restricted Section."

"So?" Hermione asked.

"So, I don't think I can exactly wangle a pass out of anyone. Nobody knows that I can easily surpass most of the first year material." Harry said, catching Hermione looking at him in wonder. He responded crabbily, "Don't look at me like that. You're just as far along, or nearly."

"But I haven't been on the second year texts at all yet!" Hermione said, a bit flustered.

"Half of the books you check out in the library are second to third year material." Harry responded back.

"Harry Potter, have you been stalking me?" Hermione said, her hands on her hips, her left toes tapping.

Crap.

[a/n: Yes, I know, this was the crummiest reveal ever, as Harry had already had these thoughts months ago. In fairness, Hermione is entertaining, and she didn't kow about any of it.

Leave a review?]


	84. Not really

"Not really," Harry said, shifting uneasily, "I've been kind of busy..."

"Doing what?" Hermione asked, her irritation fading only slightly.

"Learning how to act like a proper Gryffindor." Harry said.

"Is that why you rescued me from a Mountain Troll?" Hermione said, her hands on her hips.

"No," Harry said firmly, "I rescued you because you're valuable to me. Because you're smart, and intelligent, and can probably keep up with me."

"And...?" Hermione said, skeptically and coaxingly at once.

"And you can get a pass to the Restricted section." Harry said. "I've got enough secrets that I don't want just anyone learning about."

"Will you share them with me?" Hermione said.

"Probably," Harry said, shrugging uncomfortably.

"What's in this for me?" Hermione said.

"Well, you get a friend, and some tips on how to fit into Gryffindor better," Harry smiled, and it was cold and toothy, "And we can both make fun of Ron Weasley behind his back."

"I like the sound of that." Hermione said. "Who do you think I can go to in order to get a pass to the Restricted Section?"

"Well, I would normally say our Head of House..." Harry Potter said, "As it's obvious she favors you... but since she's a strict disciplinarian... Try Flitwick."

"But Charms is my worst subject!" Hermione said, "I almost didn't get that charm done before everyone else!"

"That's going to have to change, then." Harry said, giving her a goody Gryffindor smile, "Who's up for some practice?"

[a/n: Yes, Hermione has to have a bad subject, we all have them. Mine was english, can you tell?

Reviews appreciated!]


	85. Out on a limb

Harry Potter for real hadn't expected Ron Weasley to suddenly decided that Hermione Granger had reached Friend Status. Nope. That had not been in his frame of reference. In fact, it felt so odd that he was half tempted to see if someone (possibly a brother) had decided to substitute for the redheaded fool.

Harry certainly wouldn't have gone so far out on a limb to talk with Hermione Granger if he'd known. No, he'd have waited for this friendship to be established (through time if nothing else), and then pushed for _more_ out of Hermione. It was always easier to ask for more than it was to start something new.

Speaking of windfalls, Harry'd had one with his relationship with the twins. He'd finally been promoted from gofer to "arranger of other gofers" - actually because the twins had come up with a prank that required the assistance of many hands and more eyes.

That was the day that Harry'd learned of house elves, little creatures with big eyes and flopsy ears. Servile things, to the point where they made his stomach ache - he could have been that way. He might, at some point, gain enough power to help these poor, indigent creatures - forced to wear pillowcases, of all things!

But that wasn't today. Today, he was taking his first step along the path to power, by gaining revenge on the most ordinary of his bullies.

He would remember: _It all started with Pumpkin Juice_. He smiled as she drank, her eyes instantly alighting on someone she'd only been barely acquainted with before. _Let her feel what it's like to be out of control. To do things, to need to do things, that you don't want to do._

[a/n: This Harry isn't a nice and forgiving Harry, no.

Leave a review! We will get back to learning and Hermione next time - the potion project is a slow brewing plotline.]


	86. Pleasure

Stalking the inflicted was about as fun as afflicting the comfortable, Harry Potter had found, and he was enjoying the Slytherin witch's fate. In fact, that was all that his eyes were focused on, even as Hermione babbled about classes, and Ron talked about Quiddich. Somehow he managed to convey the idea that he was listening to both of them at once. Somehow.

By the time they stood to go to class, he found a slip of paper under his hand. _Hermione_ , he thought, with an idle smirk that he hastily turned into a grin. What did she want?

 _We should meet to study._ Hermione's note read, and Harry nodded, idly. He also needed to make sure she was targetting the right teacher for getting that permission slip to the Restricted Section.

Later that day, as they were walking back from Hagrid's hut (both Hermione and Ron had invited themselves along to Harry's invitation, which he didn't really mind, as he wasn't quite sure what he'd talk with the big man about without them), Ron had an Idea. And like all Ron ideas, it was looney.

"You remember, don't you, Harry, that trapdoor in the forbidden corridor?"

Harry's senses were on alert as he could smell a Gryffindor Plot a mile away, and those always faced squarely towards danger (and often ran towards it). "Yeah, what of it?"

"Well, wasn't that where we saw Snape coming from, on Halloween?" Ron said.

"Ron, you can't possibly mean-" Hermione started, only to be overriden by The Weasel.

"Something's there, something that Snape means to find! I bet he wants it for himself, the greasy git!" Ron said wildly, his arms flailing for emphasis.

Harry suppressed a full-hearted guffaw, saying with fake concern, "Why would he want that? What would he want?"

"He's a Slytherin, and they're always after everything that they can get their grubby paws on! Can't be trusted for an instant." Ron said, Hermione shot Harry a concerned look, which he responded to blandly.

"I guess we'll just have to see." Harry said, "I wonder what is there, anyway?" His gut was telling him that Snape wasn't after whatever was there - but that left the distressing question of _Who was?_

[a/n: Some book-plot for you. We'll get back to that Slytherin witch next time, with some more... wrestling. Leave a review!]


	87. View from Above

Harry Potter was on a balcony, looking out over some nicely hidden, dim alcoves. Below, he saw that Slytherin witch enraptured in the arms of a Ravenclaw male. Harry knew, that just two days ago, she'd never have looked twice at him. Somehow, the blokes never realized that anything was wrong... Still, it gave him a kind of funny feeling, kinda uneasy like, to watch them wrestling with each other, the sort of friendly that (it was apparent) older boys and girls seemed to like. To Harry, it just looked odd. He wasn't used to human contact, even hugs - so the idea of someone with her hand up your shirt made Harry feel uneasy.

Having a friend was supposed to be easier than this, Harry thought, although that was just quickly followed up by _Slytherins don't do easy._ Harry met Hermione up at the Owlry (Ron was still eating, and couldn't be bothered to climb the whole way up just to... spend time with Harry. Or the owls).

"Who should I ask?" Hermione said as they sought out a nice classroom for spellcasting.

"Quirrel." Harry said,

"Why him? He doesn't seem to like me much..."

"Because you don't need him to like you. You can intimidate him, with that brassy attitude of yours - and he seems more like the person to bend the rules." Harry said, shrugging, "don't ask me why."

[a/n: UpNext: A Prank for Snape.

Leave a review!]


	88. Working Together

Harry and Hermione had finally managed to find some time to themselves over the weekend. In the library, because where else would Ron Weasley never be seen willingly?

It was an odd experience, working together. Rather, they were researching different things, but stopping to point out interesting bits. Harry found what Hermione wanted to research to be quixotical, and frankly weird (she was researching transfiguration of the body, but minor stuff, like changing the length and color of your teeth).* Still, he certainly didn't want to be explaining why parts three four and five of his study session were privacy spells, and the sixth was detection spells. Hermione seemed interested enough in, well, everything - and that was nice.

He hadn't realized how lonely it had been, being alone. You didn't, not when that was normal. Not when you didn't dare let yourself picture something different. Well, he'd done so now, and he rather found he liked it.

"I think I'm almost there on Quirrel," Hermione said quietly.

"Thank you, from the bottom of my heart." Harry said just as quietly. "What worked?"

"Questions. Neverending, endless questions. And the patience to just sit there until he stutteringly answered them." Hermione said, "It's strange, at least a few times, I got the impression he had someplace to be..."

"That is a little odd, he doesn't brew Potions like Snape, or have a House like Flitwick," Harry said, frowning, "Maybe he had an assignment to craft for his upperclassmen?"

Weasley showed up, but luckily enough he'd not managed to dehex his shoes, which clinked like tap shoes on the floor of the library. Hurriedly, Harry shoved all his books towards Hermione, and made like he was making faces at her. She cracked up, less from his faces, and more from him trying to come up with hilarious faces. Not one of his specialties he had to admit.

*Harry, unlike Malfoy, is used to people coming in different sized packages. He's not actually aware that she's got an overbite.

[a/n: Leave a review? ]


	89. No, Really, Just Oblivious

The first Quiddich game of the season was almost upon them. Harry'd changed into his clothes first thing (It wasn't like he was unduly scarred, or anything, but he was a scrawny thing, and didn't especially like folks staring at his ribs*). So, while everyone else was changing, he was peeking out the locker room, and looking, well, awestruck at the crowd.

"Did everyone show up?" Harry asked, a bit baffled at so many people spending time on sports. First years he could understand, but 7th years had exams.

"Aww, isn't he cute!" One of the twins said.

"He's been training so hard!" The other responded

"That he didn't notice how Quiddich-mad the school is." the first continued.

 _No, really, I'm just oblivious_ , Harry felt like saying, as he hadn't put the least whit of studying into Quiddich. Quite frankly, even with the crowd, he'd rather lose than win. Gryffindor would be mildly upset, but the other houses wouldn't put a target on his back. By other houses, he corrected himself, he meant Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. He already had a target on his back from House Slytherin courtesy of Lord Voldemort.

As they called out the names, Harry came out to jealous, envious whispers - and then a hearty Gryffindor cheer. Led by who else? Ron Weasley. Hearing that he leapt onto the broom, and assumed the position for the start of the match.

Nobody had told him Quiddich matches took this long**. He was looking for the Snitch in vain, as was the other Seeker.

Suddenly, he saw it. _At last!_ he exhulted, racing for the snitch. Except, then his broom started to shake - and rise. Scared, he saw everyone getting smaller, as if he was suddenly getting an aerial view out of a helicopter. Indeed, his broom was spinning like a helicopter, so quickly that he slid nearly off it, holding on by just his hands. He was suddenly very, very glad he'd spent all of those hours scrubbing cauldrons. His fists felt like iron.

Still, there was no use giving up an advantage, he thought, screaming, "Help! HEEEEELP!"

The broom shook under his hands, going up and then down, and finally sent him crashing towards the ground. Right into the Snitch.

Harry was busier trying to figure out how not to die, but his screaming mouth managed to descend on the snitch anyhow.

They said he won.

Hogwarts was a mad, mad world.

And someone had just tried to kill him.

Harry Potter got to his feet, far, far too late. He scanned the crowd anyway, even as McGonagal and Ollie came running up to him. _Was Ollie actually congratulating him? Yes, yes he was. I nearly died, and I get congratulations?!_

Harry Potter just wanted to disappear, and figure out, as quickly as possible, what he could do about the situation. Because this was bad. It was one thing to suspect someone operating behind the scenes, covertly poisoning him. That implied some respect for authority. This? This was sticking your dick in the Headmaster's face, and then pissing.

And, whomever it was, had clearly gotten away with it.

Shite.

*He's thin. possibly a little malnourished. On the order of Aunt Petunia is "trying", but is not infallible, and would rather have him looking scrawny than well-fed.

**Practice snitches are easier to catch, so that practices don't last four days.

[a/n: Surely you figured a Slytherin would have a different response to "someone just tried to kill me?" Leave a review!

Also, second post of the day.]


	90. Quiddich

Harry Potter had a Quiddich Match. Not that he particularly wanted to play the game (though being on the broomstick bought him precious time to study AND be away from Ron Weasley). Still, it was a match, and he supposed he was supposed to be nervous, or excited or something.

He'd conceded just enough care to have checked out a book on Quiddich from the library - which could have gone better, as Snape had promptly confiscated it for "Reading Outside Appropriate Areas" - there wasn't a cloud in the sky! He'd _known_ better than to take it outside if it might _rain_. He'd never had money to replace library books, so he got very good at keeping them well.

Still, it got him another detention - and Snape's glee at assigning it was palpable. For such a dour man, he did seem to derive unholy amounts of satisfaction from assigning detentions to one Harry J Potter. And Harry'd checked this supposition too - he didn't look nearly as gleeful giving detentions to the twins. Though that could be because he could rarely pin the whole crime on them.

At least the detention wasn't scheduled during the game. Harry'd have trouble getting out of trouble with Wood if that'd happened.

Gametime, Harry thought, taking a deep breath and leaving behind the rest of his team, looking like the runt of the litter as he emerged into the stadium. After his name had been announced (to cheers and jeers, from the relevant audience parts), he launched himself into the sky on his broom.

And, for a while, he just let himself forget about anything other than flying, doing lazy circles, and quick dives. It didn't really matter, it was just a game. Of course, his subtle ignoring-of-the-game-entirely meant that he happened to be looking at the teacher's booth, specifically at Severus Snape, who really didn't seem the Quiddich type. He wore that scowl as if someone had tattooed it onto him. Suddenly, Harry's broom shot upward - and as it did so, Harry saw Snape draw his wand, muttering something as he stared at Harry.

Harry's broom began corkscrewing, the motion odd enough that Harry needed to cling to the broom. And, as it nosedived up and down, his clinging got more literal, as his chest was literally pressed up against the broom, his legs more horizontal than actually wrapped around the thing. The misbehaving broom gave a wag, and he was hanging from the broom by just his fingertips.

And then the broom screamed toward the ground, harry futilely trying to wrap his legs around the pointy end of the broom. The weasley twins race their brooms down towards Harry, but his is too fast.

Moments before he hits the ground, the broom stops completely. And then falls, harmless, to the ground. Harry, horribly enough, was beneath it, so not only does he hit the ground rolling (Hollywood was good for something), but he also bonks himself on the head.

Ow.

The world shook, once and went dark.

The next thing Harry knew, he was waking up in the infirmary to the ear-grating sound of Ronald Weasley arguing with Hermione Granger.

Ron insisted, "I say the slimy git did it - you saw him cursing Harry."

Hermione primly corrected, "I saw Professor Snape mouthing words at Harry and his broom."

"Yeah, but when you disrupted him, the jinx stopped!" Ron said urgently. Harry, still muzzy in the head, thought there was something wrong with this logic.

"Ron, if Snape was really trying to kill me, why would he be doing it with so many witnesses?" Harry asked, turning towards Hermione, "And if you noticed him cursing, how many other people might have noticed? Surely not everyone was staring at my duff!" Everyone laughed at that, and they let the matter rest, as Harry was suddenly dealing with all the candy and chocolate that had been foisted on him. _Who had gotten him cockroach clusters?_

[a/n: enjoy! Isn't it odd that the first game is after Halloween? That means in the first four months of school there's like two games. Leave a review!]


	91. Itchtastic

It had been one thing to wake surrounded by people. Ally, stalkinghorse, even the Nurse. However, once they'd left, Harry Potter was left with a very disquieting feeling. As if someone was sneaking up from behind him, no matter where he looked. He was stuck here, stuck in a bed. In a very obvious place that said I Was Hurt.

And someone had _just_ tried to kill him.

Harry tried to think - there hadn't _seemed_ to be people he didn't recognize at the game. Certainly the Weasley's Mum and Da hadn't shown. Maybe that was _normal_?

But that just meant someone here, still here, had tried to kill him.

It wasn't Snape - not only was it ridiculous, Harry somehow felt that it wasn't Snape either, in some way that he truly didn't understand.

And definitely, definitely didn't have time to think about.

They might try again. And what better place for him to be a target than the Infirmary. One of the few places in Hogwarts where anyone could just walk in - because after all, couldn't anyone get hurt and need treatment? At any time of day or night?

It had been one thing when people were out for his blood. A punch a kick, something like that. Hell, Harry even understood it, to a point. Probably they'd lost their parents too. Not that Harry felt at all bad for making it difficult for them to take out their Id on him.

Harry wanted to convene a council of war. Make sure that he hadn't misunderstood a prank, or even something meant merely to incapacitate him. Malfoy might have tried something like that - Harry didn't sense any latent bloodthirst, though, so he probably wasn't actively trying to get Harry killed (unless he was under orders. And frankly, who'd bother with an eleven year old?).

No, this was tricky flashy business, which was like saying "I Can Do Whatever I Want, and you can't Stop Me!"

Harry _needed_ to get out of the infirmary before the bastard came back.

It felt like an itch, all over himself.

Idly, he wondered if the Nurse would mind if he slept under the bed. No point to it really, he couldn't guarantee being the first awake, and sleeping was dead, in this case

[a/n: Yes, Harry's a bit more hurt than in canon. Or someone cares a bit more about checking out his health.

Reviews are delightful, and make me write more on this story!]


	92. Going to War

Apparently Harry's green eyes worked wonders on the school Nurse. Or maybe it was his incessant fidgeting and asking of unanswerable questions. There was a bit of a trick to that last - they needed to be on-subject enough to not get a "Because" or "And that brings us back to the Big Bang!"*, and tricksy enough that the teacher would get halfway through before realizing that she didn't actually know the full answer.

"How do cells use the energy that mitochondria generate for them?" was a good example. The truth was electrochemistry, but if you were a teacher, you didn't think to cut the question off at the knees.

At any rate, he was out, and quick enough that classes were still in session. He intended to skip, of course.

Earlier, he had wished for a council of war.

Now, he was going to war, and the council could catch up on its own good time.

He sat up on a balcony, watching a stocky 4th year Slytherin trotting upstairs. He flipped the Slytherin a knut. The Slytherin slowed, momentarily confused, and asked, briskly, "What?"

"Where's Malfoy right now?" Harry responded, knowing that the Slytherin had a sister in his class.

"First year charms, right beside my sister." The Slytherin responded, not bothered enough to negotiate over common knowledge.

Harry flipped him a galleon, which had the Slytherin looking wideeyed at him. That was some serious change. "You never saw me."

"Harry who?" The Slytherin smirked as he turned his back, continuing up the stairs.

Finding alcoves was easy. Harry needed something better than that, though. He found a nice tuck-a-way beside the classroom's door, and contented himself with staying small and quiet. Snape roamed the halls after hours, not in the middle of class. So, it was probably okay that he didnt' have a satisfactory answer for being tucked up under a stone bench.

Luckily, Malfoy headed the other way, taking the way downstairs. Other Slytherins split off to study, even Goyle and Crabbe splitting off to go play outside. Harry simply shadowed Malfoy, flattering himself to think he was quiet as a cat.

As soon as there were no witnesses, Harry aimed a bumrush directly at Malfoy's back, his shoulder hitting the boy's spine, and his forearm braced on the other boy's neck. The combination of momentum sent them both slamming into an alcove.

They were both down, and Potter took the time to not break Malfoy's spine (that'd probably get him expelled), by rolling him so he was sitting up. Potter squatted over Malfoy, his arm on the other boy's throat, keeping a steady pressure that made it hard to breathe.

It took a moment before Malfoy woke up fully, "Wha?" was his first incoherent response. Harry wanted to snort, but he kept his opinions to himself.

"Potter." Malfoy managed, "Why are you choking me?" Good. wakefulness. lucidity.

Harry cut him off before the threats could start, "Someone tried to kill me."

Malfoy's mouth opened wordlessly at that.

"Who?" Harry Potter asked, and watched Malfoy crumple, just a bit. _Did he think I thought him_ _ **able**_ _to try that bullshite?_

"Haven't the foggiest." Malfoy said, the knowledge that Harry Potter might just crush his windpipe making him straightforward, "Nobody in my house wants to do more than knock you down a few pegs. Maybe make you crawl on the ground while they laugh."

Potter nodded, and Malfoy, relaxing just a hair more, asked, "Why don't you ask your friends? They might have a lead."

Potter scowled, and cuttingly replied, " _They_ think it's Professor Snape."

Malfoy boggled at this, and was about to say something, when Potter continued, "I know, right?"

"Snape." Malfoy finally choked out, "Try asking him. I swear he's got eyes in the back of his head sometimes."

Potter nodded and stormed off.

Malfoy cursed absently at the vanishing Gryffindor. That had _hurt_! And he hadn't even been up to _anything_!

[a/n: got a bit more into Malfoy's perspective. Is harry doing a good job pretending to be a Gryff?

Leave a review!]

*Green Mars Reference. Don't read the book.


	93. Finished flouncing

Harry Potter had finished flouncing quite rapidly. He'd really only needed to get away from Malfoy, and the alcove. Put a bit of distance in - up some stairs, turn a corner, and then he found a different niche, sliding in as if he wasn't about to start shaking.

Dealing with Snape was far harder than dealing with Malfoy. Gryffindor Gold certainly made Malfoy flinch. He wasn't used to people demanding things from him, and if there was any blowback, well, Harry Potter had a Name. Lucius Malfoy did as well, but Harry rather figured his own was a bit bigger. It might be time to see if that would pay off.

Still, today was for hunting information.

And he had one other source other than Snape (who he really ought to at least have considered first thing. Malfoy wouldn't have noticed any odd guests...)

Standing, quieting his breathing, he strode quickly up towards Gryffindor Tower. The twins were working on something complicated, but that didn't matter.

They admired style, so he was going to give them a taste.

He did a backflip onto the couch between them, a simple devourer spell* catching the charm they were tossing between each other.

"Who's after me?" Harry Potter demanded.

"Plenty of people, really."

"Specificity is, this once, a virtue."

"Who wants me dead?" Harry demanded more forcefully.

"Couldn't tell you. Wasn't us, not our style." The twins said in their funny singsong voice.

Harry rolled his eyes at the last. "Anyone caught? Anyone questioned?"

"Nothing and no one." the twins responded.

"Bugger me," Harry swore - hearing Hermione audibly wince at it. _I hadn't even realized she'd followed me over_.

"If they won't follow proper procedures -" Harry asked, as plaintive as windswept gravel, "Am I supposed to go through this every week? Without complaint?"

The twins shrugged, "Ask Dumbledore. Nothing happens around here without his say so."

It was wise advice, sure.

But Harry wanted answers.

He rolled out of the couch into a somersault, straightening into a standing position. Acrobatics were dead useful.

Harry needed a gameplan - several, actually. He got a broom.

Flying gave him peace of mind, and no one questioned him spending hours in the sky. Hardly anyone seemed to notice, although occasionally he'd see Granger sitting and waiting for him by the end. She claimed his aerial dancing aided in her studying. It certainly aided in his.

Penitent, if he could pull it off, quiet and everything otherwise. No need to antagonize, he wanted real answers, not pretty little lies. And give a Slytherin half a chance, and he'd certainly spin something. To keep Harry Potter out of trouble, if nothing else.

Gryffindors charged forward. Slytherins knew the guylines, and how to tack into the teeth of the wind. Harry'd stop this murderer cleanly, if possible. Unfortunately, the cleanest way should have already worked. Question outsiders, take them to task, dose them with truth serum, and give them a trial and a jail sentence.

That this hadn't happened was troubling.

Snape's office hours started in thirty minutes. Time enough for a shower. He'd have an hour.

Harry Potter arrived, hair still dripping, and knocked on Severus Snape, Potion Master of Hogwarts', office door.

"Enter." Snape's lazy drawl said.

Harry Potter did, closing the door quietly behind him as was his wont (when he wasn't pretending to be a Gryffindor.)

"You are the first student in five years to use my office hours, and the first Gryffindor in my recollection - which is quite sharp, I assure you." Snape said, his velvety voice rolling out like fifty shades of oblivion. "What do you want?"

"Answers, sir. Since you apparently have this time reserved for students, it seemed a good time to ask."

Snape's eyes glittered at him, as he set down his quill, not before writing something particularly vicious in the margins of that third year potions paper. "Then ask."

"Who is trying to kill me, sir?" Harry said, his green eyes solid.

"I can assure you I do not know." Snape said, "But I do find it curious that you would ask me, rather than your own head of house."

"As far as I've been able to determine, there has been no criminal investigation. Have I been misinformed?" Harry asked pointedly.

"No," Snape said, the word forbidding in its abruptness

"Then that suggests any knowledge would come from those... more willing to tred softly near the grey edges of the law, rather than those who see in strictly black and white."

"Are you trying to call me morally questionable, Potter?" Snape's eyes flashed, his humor wickedly barbed.

"No, sir." Harry said, bending the conversation back to where he wanted it, "Can you tell me why there's not been any sort of formal investigation?"

"The matter is jurisdictional, in the main." Snape drawled, "The Headmaster wishes to avoid Ministry interference in Hogwarts."

 _Well, now there was a screw that could be turned_ , Harry thought.

"Without ministry interference, what are the chances that my would-be murderer would be found before another attempt?"

"Vanishingly small. As would be the case with ministry interference."

Potter nodded, turning to go.

"Potter-" Snape said, and Harry Potter halted, turning back. "You are a first year; do not, under any circumstances, confront anyone you think might want to murder you."

Harry Potter was nearly shocked - that almost sounded like concern coming from Snape. "I won't betray your trust, sir."

*shields deflect, devourers eat.

[a/n: Oh, ye of little faith in human stupidity.

Leave a review?

Snape's significantly more likely to be forthcoming when he wants to rant, even if he's keeping the rant well banked.]


	94. Should I stay or should I go?

_Should I stay or should I go now?_

 _Should I stay or should I go now?_

 _If I go, there will be trouble_

 _And if I stay it will be double_

 _So come on and let me know_

Well, Harry thought, I have my information, now. It burns, and twists and turns inside me. But I have it now. Far more information than expected, less than I'd hoped.

Harry sat down at the Library table, it still being hours before supper. He started to list a full grouping of things that he'd have to do in order to leave. And then he started to list a full grouping of things that he'd have to do in order to stay.

Hermione sat down somewhere along the line, and she said, "Harry! Glad to see you!"

Harry looked wearily up at her, and said, "No one's investigating someone trying to murder me. They didn't call the bobbies, the cops, whomever."

Hermione's eyes only widened, "Why would they -?"

"Active suppression," Harry said firmly. "It looks bad if Hogwarts lets someone nearly murder the Golden boy."

"Surely someone's looking..." Hermione said.

"No, I asked." Harry said. "Look at these lists."

"Harry - this one is "How to Leave Hogwarts and Never Return!" "Hermione said, looking urgently at the other one, "And this one is "Steps to murdering someone before I die myself!" "

She looked a bit boggled, so Harry hastened to explain. "Historically, a sneak attack has been considered a prime tool of military strategy, and in my case, this would be a retaliatory response, so quite within the realm of the reasonable."

"But - but you can't!" Hermione said.

"Hence the other page." Harry said, setting the papers down, "We can call the one you don't like a "backup plan" "

Harry winked at her, and Hermione blushed slightly. "Harry! You have to talk to someone about this!"

"I intend to. Our head of house should suffice, should she not?" Harry said. What good was it to pretend to be a Gryffindor if it got you killed for rank stupidity?

"Can I come with you?" Hermione said.

"Only if you swear not to mention Snape." Harry said,

"Done." Hermione said.

And so, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger stood before McGonagall's Office. Harry knocked firmly.

"Enter, children." McGonagall's bright voice said.

They did, waiting respectfully for her to say something. Apparently, unlike Snape, that was the wrong thing to do, as McGonagall rapped out a crisp, "Well, what is it?"

"I could use a spot of your wisdom," Harry said.

"I'll do my best to provide," McGonagall said, her face turning slightly upward in a small smile.

"I'm considering leaving Hogwarts." Harry Potter said, as Hermione Granger looked distressed.

"Has someone been bullying you? Few decide to leave Hogwarts so early." McGonagall said,

"Bullies are bullies, and I won't escape them by transferring. Better to make them bleed." Harry said truculently. *

"Then why are you considering leaving Hogwarts? You seem to be doing well in all your studies." McGonagall responded.

"Why are you lying to me with questions?" Harry asked, "Someone tried to kill me. I wound up in the infirmary. Now, I find that this incident isn't even classified as criminal!"

"Mister Potter, I assure you that your rogue broomstick maneuvers are being investigated as we speak. Madame Hooch has custody of your broom, and has yet to deliver a summary finding - whether this was a prank gone wrong, or something more serious."

"In that case," Harry Potter said firmly, watching McGonagall relax a bit, "I wish to leave Hogwarts immediately. I may return once justice is served." This acting like a Gryffindor thing was actually quite fun!

"Mister Potter, I would strongly urge you to not be hasty. In fact, come along now, we'll take you to see the Headmaster." McGonagall stood up, looked at Hermione and said crisply, "Miss Granger, you may return to the tower, if you please." It was an order, and Harry saw Hermione swallow it, even if her hands were in fists the whole time.

[a/n: second post today. Leave a review! Harry's quite a lot more troubled by the fact that nobody cares that he almost got murdered.]

*Still need to work on being a Gryffindor, Harry!


	95. The Headmaster

It was difficult enough to keep up with McGonaall, as she was pron e to turning quickly, her feline grace much more lithe than her namesake. Just as well she wasn't coated in armor, Harry thought with some humor. She fit the very model of an old battleaxe anyway.

Her irritation and suppressed anger was outline in every muscle of her face, and quite a few on her body as well. He had to scramble to keep up.

They arrived at what Harry could only assume was the Headmaster's Office- as Prof. McGonagall had slowed, and she didn't seem like the type to take the long way round.

"Kitkats," McGonagall snapped, and Harry was faintly surprised to see that she didn't look a bit more annoyed. Someone was apparently _not_ poking her on her feline nature.

The gargoyle began to slide to the side, gathering Potter who followed after as it stepped aside. His green eyes looked up at McGonagall, ready with a thousand questions.

"Come along, Mister Potter," McGonagall snapped. Harry hurried after, too out of breath to respond.

Headmaster Dumbledore looked quite a lot like a stereotypical wizard. But that wasn't what had caught Harry's eye. The entire office rang, chirped, whirred and otherwise made an awful lot of noise. And there was a chick on a Parrot Stand. Overall, the entire place made Harry want to touch all of it... or hide under the desk. Either way, it was disconcerting and that'll explain enough of why the Headmaster had it.

It was only then that Harry Potter noticed Severus Snape, dark in a corner with his even darker robes, somehow suddenly unmissable though he'd been ignored before.

"Headmaster, it would appear you have more pressing business..."

"Nonsense, Severus! Sit down and you can listen to what Mr Potter and Ms. McGonagal have to say"

[a/n: so sleepy. reviews wake me up and make me write more.]


	96. Predators don't die old

Severus Snape leveled a sneer at the gathering, retreating back into a corner where his back was against the wall. Harry Potter sympathized, and wished he could cower back there too.

 _Be Brave, Be Bold, Be Cold_

 _Predators don't die old_

Albus Dumbledore started the meeting, as was his right as host, "What seemed to be the problem, Harry?"

"Someone tried to kill me." Harry Potter said firm and truculent, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "I want to withdraw from Hogwarts."

"Harry..." Albus Dumbledore said, "I assure you _everything_ is being done to stop the miscreant."

"If you haven't caught him yet, what makes you so certain you will before another... _attempt_?"

"Your professor is investigating all possible leads," Dumbledore said, his bearing indicating he meant Professor Snape.

"Is he?" Harry Potter asked, green eyes wide for all they were worth. "Snape said there was no investigation."

"No formal one," Snape put in, his soft voice carrying clearly over the clucks and clicks and wizbangs.

Harry Potter pivoted towards Snape, and asked directly, "What qualifications do you have to conduct this investigation? Do you have a forensics certificate?"

It must have been Harry's imagination, because he swore he saw Snape look amused, for just a flash of a second. "I am a teacher, and a Head of House, and a Potions Master, I hold no other certifications."

Harry turned toward the headmaster, "You are treating my attempted murder as a matter of school discipline. Can I take it that there were in fact no strangers visiting Hogwarts that day?"

"No one other than Lucius Malfoy, who has my complete trust." Snape purred, which was completely undermined by McGonagall's snort. How she could make that noise sound crisp was an open question.

"You mean ye'd help him bury the body, no foolin' Severus Snape," McGonagall said in an increasingly Scotch accent.

"I might," Snape said cuttingly, "If it were done _well_. This botched job was anything but."

Harry Potter turned away from the Professors behind him, and spat at Dumbledore, "Headmaster, there's a teacher at this school, who just openly admitted he'd be an accessory to my murder, if only it was done _neatly_. Can you see why I want to leave?"

[a/n: quote's a paraphrase from Unsounded the webcomic.

Snape and Albbus are very much not used to people actually thinking.

Leave a review?

Second post today!]


	97. You must

"Harry," the Headmaster said in that tone of infinite patience generally used on willful three-year-olds, "You must not leave Hogwarts. You need to control your magic - you wouldn't want to hurt someone, would you?"

 _Yes, sir, I devoutly want to hurt_ _ **you**_ _, at this precise moment,_ Harry snarled in his mind, keeping his spine straight, aiming for inches he didn't truly own. Defiance was in the bones, in the spine.

McGonagall chimed in, in annoyed tones that brooked no defiance, "Mister Potter, you must attend your education."

"I have yet to see a Yank at this school," Harry Potter said, crossing his arms, "That indicates that there's at least one school of Magical Education that is not Hogwarts. If I have to go to the Other Hemisphere to be safe..."

"Mister Potter! You hardly have to go to America to be safe!" McGonagall snapped, her voice finally betraying the helplessness that Harry was causing.

Harry's jaw had jutted out, and he was about to say something truculent, when Snape's smooth voice slid over the room like a garotte closing around someone's neck. "Well, well, well, Minerva, you finally encounter the arrogance this brat shows to me on a daily basis."

"There certainly wouldn't be no lickspittles in Godric's House," Minerva McGongall snapped, wheeling towards Snape, her hand on her hip - which was lucky, as Harry was starting to breath faster, his body preparing for the fight he could smell coming. He wanted his wand in his hand, refraining only because it might spark this gunpowder into exploding.

"What House would they be in," Harry asked instead, channeling the need to do something, "Hufflepuff?"

"Children!" The Headmaster exploded, his "kindly grandfather" guise completely falling to the floor, leaving behind a very annoyed, very powerful wizard. "Harry, Hogwarts has unparalleled protections for you from your enemies."

Harry was concentrating on very firmly "not looking" at Snape, who was studying him as if he was a bug or something. _Does he know about his house? Stupid, stupid question. Of course he knows. He knows they've been trying to beat me at every turn. And keeps on assigning detentions anyway._ Harry grit his teeth, wanting to punch something.

Around the room, the clickety clocks stopped, one by one. Harry's eyes were still locked with the Headmaster's.

Snape's voice slid out, calm as still water, "Silence. How unexpected."

Harry ignored Snape (he could always question him later), and asked, "Is it not one of my enemies that tried to kill me? Headmaster, _how_ do you _know_?" Harry heard a soft impelled exhalation through the nose - as if Snape was laughing at what he'd asked.

"Regretfully," the Headmaster said, "I do not know for certain. I do know that none of Voldemort's followers could breech the wards."

"What other enemies have I made?" Harry spat, incredulous at the idea that he'd somehow hurt someone enough that they'd ask for his death.

"None of my House wishes you dead." Snape said stiffly. _No, they just want me bloodied and kneeling before them. Conquered._

"My sources agree." Harry Potter said, and caught McGonagal looking at him sharply.

Snape raised an eyebrow, "I was not aware that you were on speaking terms with anyone who might provide a reliable report."

"You assumed I asked, sir." Harry said, his grin showing just the smallest shred of bloodlust.

"Harry Potter!" The Headmaster said, "As your defacto guardian in the Wizarding Realm, I deem this place safe and wish you to continue your education here. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, sir." Harry Potter said, his mind already on how to fix the broken situation. Preferably without murdering the Headmaster.

"Headmaster Albus," Snape said, "What you have seen today from Mister Potter is termed "testing boundaries." I think you've amply demonstrated Mister Potter's limits. While normally in teenagers this would be a sign of youthful rebellion, in an arrogant child, it is merely to be expected. If you will release him into my capable hands, I can ensure that the arrogance leaves his body."

"Before or afta ya keell him?" McGonagall put in.

"Ideally before." Snape said.

"Severus," the headmaster said disapprovingly, "You know as well as I do that it is Professor's McGonagall's job to punish Harry as she sees fit."

Minerva McGonagall cut in, "And if you want to take some work off my plate, Assistant Headmaster may soon be yours!"

McGonagall strode off, Snape on her heels, and Harry, awkwardly, said, "Later," before he left the room. He had the disquieting sensation that the Headmaster had completely stopped paying attention to him.

[Albus was listening in to Snape and Minerva.

Snape devoutly didn't want Harry to mention getting beat in the dungeons.

Leave review!

Rowling does everyone a deep disservice by not doing anything for Harry at this point.

Yes you can say that Harry doesn't have a sense of self-preservation.

But you still need to explain how Ron and the resident brainiac didn't report Snape. And they are Gryffindors, so cowardice is a copout.]


	98. Dead Meat

Harry Potter wouldn't have ordinarily convened any sort of Council of War with Ronald Weasley present, but, well, his friend Hermione and he, together, had about a teaspoonful of knowledge about the Wizarding World. And so Harry resolved to sit down with them and ask quite a few questions. Because the Gryffindor common room was uncommonly noisy, they wound up at a secluded table in the library.

"I spoke with the Headmaster today," Harry Potter started out.

"Harry! What did you say?!" Hermione Granger said, looking a strange mix of alarmed and excited.

"I told him I'd just as soon leave Hogwarts." Harry Potter responded.

"Cor! You can't just leave, Harry!" Ron said, scandalized.

"What about your education?" Hermione said firmly, "You wouldn't know anything!"

"I could enroll in another school, you realize." Harry put in firmly.

"But Hogwarts is the best school in England!" Hermione said emphatically.

"I wasn't thinking England. Maybe a nice wide ocean between myself and my would-be murderer would be enough disincentive." Harry said wryly.

"Ha-aarry! We'd, - you just can't!" Hermione said, and Harry reflected that he hadn't expected she'd be this broken up about it.

"Apparently you're right, Dumbledore is my magical guardian, and he claims that I'm safest here."

"Hogwarts is pretty safe," Ron put in, "Hasn't fallen ever, and there's been quite a few wars since it was built."

"Safe if it's a war you're afraid of..." Harry said, thinking, "Do you think Dumbledore might be expecting a war?"

"I don't know..." Ron said.

Hermione sat up straight, "It certainly hasn't protected you from you-know-who..."

Ron said, "Innit he dead?"

Harry responded, with a roll of his eyes, "No, the other you know who. The one I maintain is you know not doing you-know-what."

Hermione nodded, but Ron still looked uncomprehending. She leaned into his ear and whispered something, and he said, "Oi! Yeah, the greasy git!"

"I heard something funny, too, while I was talking with Dumbledore." Harry said, "No one is officially investigating what happened."

"They didn't call the police?" Hermione said, scandalized.

"The what?" Ron said, confused.

"The - " Harry began gesturing furiously, and Hermione eventually broke in, "He means the Aurors."

"Why would they? It happened at school." Ron said firmly.

"Isn't it normal for an Auror to investigate serious crimes?" Harry said, fighting back the "and misdemeanors."

"Dumbledore's got to have someone looking into it." Hermione said.

"I asked. The leads are dead, all of them." Harry said firmly.

"Then what's to stop it from happening again?" Hermione said, looking truly alarmed, "Maybe you _should_ leave, just for a little..."

"I do know one thing," Harry said, "I hope it's not the bat, because if it is, I'm truly dead meat."

Ron, perhaps not comprehending the situation fully, nodded, "Yeah, you saw what happened when the duffer Longbottom blew up his potion last week. The speed of his draw!"

"Ronald!" Hermione said crossly.

"He's just being realistic. I prefer that, actually." Harry said firmly.

 _So it wasn't completely out of this world objectionable that no one from the Ministry was investigating... Hmm..._ Harry thought, _I have to think what I can try, as there are a lot of options. I wonder if anyone outside the school knows what happened? Other than Lucius Malfoy, that is..._

[a/n: Second post of the day.

Yes, Snape was serious about burying Harry's body.

Things should get ... more interesting from here.]


	99. A Price to be Paid

Harry said firmly, "My life is currently in danger, by an unfingered person, who could attack at any time. The leads have grown cold, and there isn't enough evidence to justify bringing in the authorities with a clear cut case."

"But Snape-" Ron Weasley said.

"Give me ten minutes in the Great Hall, and I'll have ten people who witnessed Snape muttering under his breath at me." Harry Potter said firmly. "If that was enough evidence, he'd be in gaol already."

Hermione vibrated in her chair, not saying a word but looking like she had a thousand to say.

Harry Potter grinned, and said, "Here's what I've got:

1) Call in the Authorities

2) Find the killer myself

3) Lay a trap for him with myself as bait.

4) Remove Dumbledore from being Headmaster."

Hermione's eyes had kept on getting bigger throughout, and Harry continued quickly, "I may not be able to do all of them at once, but... put everything on the table!"

Hermione said, "You can't fire the Headmaster!?"

"He is putting me in the direct line of fire of an attempted murderer." Harry said, frowning, "Does that sound like someone who should be in charge of children?"

"Well, no..." Hermione said.

"Dumbledore won't let any harm come ta ya!" Ron said, "Ask Hagrid, he'll set you straight."

Harry, who had been doing some reading, looked carefully at Ron, "Hagrid's definition of harm and mine differ a bit, you know? He's a half-giant, it's hard to hurt him by negligence or accident. You gotta be tryin'."

Hermione chimed in, "But Dumbledore defeated the Great Wizard Grindenwald!"

"Leaving aside I don't know who that is," Harry began, "He'd still need to be awake to defend me, wouldn't he? Even the Great and Wise Dumbledore has to sleep sometime..."

"He could put up wards!" Ron said, excited.

"Yes, but, he hasn't..." Harry Potter said. "And if Hogwarts' own wards didn't help...

[a/n: title refers to the price of fostering ignorance.

Leave a review!]


	100. Twist the Knife

Before they got any further, a snatch of a conversation came on the windless air of the library.

"Albus, I'm not sure what you were expecting..." Snape's sly voice slid through the stacks of the library, "Surely _you_ didn't want me to lie to the boy?"

"Did you need to tell him that you'd ended your investigation?" Dumbledore said, "You've made the poor lad scared of going to school."

"Oh, and we'd never want that." Snape's tone oozed venom, the flesh-eating kind, "He's arrogant enough without having someone out to kill him. I'd throttle the neck of whomever decided that the Middle of a Quiddich Game was the appropriate time for permanently dealing with an eleven year old."

"You always did loathe sloppy work," Dumbledore said mildly.

"You're not upset at me telling the truth, you know," Snape said, and Harry pictured those pitchblack eyes meeting Dumbedore's watery blues. "You're upset _you_ had to tell the truth."

Dumbledore responded placidly, "Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean that you didn't want him to know you were his magical guardian, of course."

"And why wouldn't I want that?" Dumbledore asked

"Custody is properly yours, and you know it." Snape said. _Shite,_ Harry thought, that's right! He might not have to go back to the Dursleys, back to no magic and designer beatings by Dudley, and boredom.

Of course, there was the small matter of going Home with Dumbledore, a person who seemed batty on the best of days, and if Snape was even in the remote ballpark of being right, both didn't want Harry, and didn't want Harry to _know_ that he didn't want him, despite the legal duty.

Harry Potter could ask Dumbledore. The Boy who Lived might even compel Dumbledore, if he was willing to spill his guts.

But who wanted to change a place where nobody wanted him for yet another place where nobody wanted him?

[a/n: Second post today. leave a review!]


	101. One More

Harry looked at his friends, shook his head curtly, and said, "Apparently the library is just the place for discussing my guardianship. Who knew?"

"Harry! You can't possibly be even considering removing Dumbledore as Headmaster - he's a great wizard!" Hermione said firmly.

"For now, Let's add "Restructure the government of Wizarding England", shall we?" Harry said, his eyes solemn.

"Harry!" Hermione said, and even Ron broke off from contemplation to say, "Oi! Bit strong there, aren't we?"

"For now," Harry said, "let's get the plans together. I _will_ worry about whether I should pull the trigger or not, but I want the plans first." Harry said, relieved beyond words to see Hermione settling down at that comment. He'd worried that he'd have to beat her down to get her to be quiet.

Removing Dumbledore as Headmaster had several facets that Harry found fascinating. The primary point of weakness of Dumbledore's control was the Board of Directors, who could fire him at will. Weasley contributed that Dumbledore had several enemies on the Board, most notably Lucius Malfoy. Any Slytherin was worth noting, Harry thought, as he meticulously recorded that kernel of information. He idly wondered how much it would cost him to bribe Malfoy into removing Dumbledore. Pride, certainly, and probably some reputation. He might need to publically endorse some proposal or product of Malfoy Enterprises.

Or Harry could attempt to rally the entire Board to his side. A brief description of the three headed dog, plus the near death of the Boy Who Lived (how Potter loathed that title) without even so much as a report to the Ministry! (Or the Board, for that matter). In fact, if he went that route, he could probably get Malfoy in trouble as well, as wasn't he supposed to report such gross misconduct to the entire Board, not hold it for blackmail purposes later? Harry sat back, thinking about that. Malfoy was supposed to be a quite powerful man. So how was it that Dumbledore still sat on his duff as Headmaster? Was Dumbledore a deliberate, straw enemy set up by Malfoy, to allow himself to win better converts? Or maybe this was all leftovers from Voldemort, and bitter rivals were merely to be expected, and unlikely to change.

Overhauling the Ministry was a different story. Harry couldn't count on Malfoy's help (however unwitting) there...

[a/n: Any ideas from the peanut gallery? Leave a review after the beep!]


	102. Surprisingly helpful

Harry Potter sat back in his seat, cracking his back as he yawned. Hermione Granger had proven surprisingly helpful once she'd accepted that they weren't actually making a decision yet. Ron had been his usual gittish self, constantly trying to lure them into doing anything else. It hadn't worked, of course.

Now that they had lists, Harry was ready to smile.

"You're going to sleep on this, right, harry?" hermione asked.

Harry nodded saying, "Of course of course."

"We'll meet back here tommorrow, and decide." said Ron, as if he got any choice in the matter. Still it was a good timeslot.

They all scurried back to the Gryffindor Common Room before curfew - Harry getting nabbed by the Twins, as they had another prank to do.

All in all, it had felt like a productive day.

Harry Potter knew that Dumbledore was a roadblock in the road towards getting him safe. Worked properly, Severus Snape might be a help and not a hindrance, should Harry ever want to leave Hogwarts. There's one person who wouldn't mind seeing Harry's backside. (Or beating it bare, come to think of it.)

[a/n: At the top.

Leave a review!]


	103. Sharp Right Turn

Harry Potter was up early, a chess set out as a distraction should Ron Weasley show up - he could reach the chair and look like he'd been waiting for a game. Ron Weasley wouldn't think past a game of chess. No question as to how long Harry'd been there, or why he'd be waiting rather than finding someone to play (then again, it was early, and who was in the Gryffindor Common Room early). His books were open, and he was reading about memory charms, and obliviate, a notoriously tricky spell that he'd been trying to master, despite not having anyone he dared practice on.

"Harry!" One of the twins said, and they both grabbed a shoulder of his, dragging him out of where he sat, tucked up in a hidden place in the riotous common room.

"My wand!" he said, trying to get it as they tugged him away...

They unceremoniously hauled him out the door - no matter he'd left his wand behind.

"No time!"

"No Time for Tea!"

It took them all of five minutes to haul (keelhaul?) Harry into an abandoned classroom. Fred (or was it Forge?) dropped a glass plate, which shattered on the floor with a wave of magic.

"Silencing charm."

"Woven like a ward into glass."

"Won't take a beating, won't last more than an hour."

"But it's far quicker than spells."

"And way more portable than wards."

Half wanting to roll his eyes at the explanation, Harry Potter asked, "What's up, guys?"

"Harry potter -" They said, both leaning forward to put their heads on a level with his.

"What did you _Do_?" And Harry knew it was serious, as they were saying the words together.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, more unsure about what he was being asked about than anything, really. He did a lot of things, some of them on the blurry side of illegal.

"Someone Slytherin got caught with her knickers around her ankles, in a broomcloset with a boy." One said.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Yes, but this wasn't just lust. It was potioneering."

"And she's been seen with at least _five_ other boys, so someone's been _letting_ it wear off betweens."

"Dumbles wanted to know if it was us - you shoulda seen Snape!"

"Word to the wise - if this was you, in any way shape or form, I'd make all the evidence disappear."

"Seriously?"

"They were talking expulsion, Harry. And yes, seriously."

"Thanks for the tweets, little birds of mine," Harry said, smiling genuinely, as he swaggered out the door.

Moments past turning the corner, Harry was running pel mel. Not towards his laboratory - that'd already been scotched clean. No, he was headed towards the dungeons. There was still one loose thread he had to fix... Sheer adrenaline had him in a flatout dash down the stairs, and sheer luck kept him on his feet.

[a/n: Leave a review? Betcha you weren't thinking this is the way the next chappie was going.]


	104. First Floor Classrom

Harry Potter went plummeting down the stairs, nearly down to the dungeons when he heard Blaise's voice. He whirled, and headed out towards one of the first year courtyards. _There!_ Harry lunged, grabbing Blaise neatly by the back of the robe, apologizing to the girls he was sitting with, "Excuse me, urgent business." Harry didn't notice nor care about the girls' sudden excited whispers. Later he'd realize that he was the reason for Blaise's persistent "he's gay" rumor. *

Inside a classroom, Harry slammed the door, and then cast a Petrificus Totalis on Blaise, who blinked at him. Amending his plan, Harry cast a silencing charm, and then a notice-me-not - it wasn't the best he could do, but he didn't want to set off SnapeRadar in case the dour bastard was lurking in the corridors.

"Do you remember our bargain?" Harry Potter said. Blaise blinked in acknowledgement. "I'm amending it, now."

Harry had raised his wand to Blaise's temple, and the dark skinned boy kept trying to twitch away.

"Think hard about our bargain," Harry Potter said, "I wouldn't want to remove anything else."

Blaise's dark eyes had gone wide at that. Oh, so so wide.

Harry took a deep breath, muttered, "Obliviate" and dove in. Blaise's mind was a mixture of Quiddich mud and mangled house design. It was difficult to find anything - but Harry could see the open folder, and he quickly traveled to it, in the way that dreams let you. Standing there, he struck quickly and mercilessly, burning the folder and its contents.

Harry took the memory that he'd crafted, and inserted it subtlely and slowly, letting it take root, as Harry spent the half an hour required to make the false memory charm stick.

*Harry doesn't get one of those because the girls would rather fantasize about him. For now.

[a/n: Leave review? Didja want more description of the spellcasting?]


	105. Down comes the Hammer of God

Harry Potter had made it up to the third floor before he heard Snape behind him - it was just the whisper of sound, but he heard it, seconds before Snape spoke, "Mister Potter." It was probably that early warning that kept Harry from jumping through the roof... or pissing himself.

 _Just_ the person he hadn't wanted to see. Not _yet_. He'd wanted to be back in the Gryffindor Common Room, with people who could vouch for him. Even if they might _not_ , the spectre of them vouching for him was worth something.

"The Headmaster has requested your presence in his office." Snape said, and left it at that. Harry tried to calm himself down, breathing through his nose, very, very slowly. Like unspooling and then respooling a spindle of thread. In, in in, until he felt like he'd pass out, and then out out out out, until his lungs burned.

Snape hadn't waited for a response, and had just strode past Harry, who jerked into motion as he saw Snape's black robes halfway up the stairs.

Harry Potter insisted, darkly, to himself, that he was not about to get expelled. He was their Savior, he was Famous, he was not about to get Expelled. He wasn't sure quite what he'd done - or more particularly: how bad what he'd done was. And that was a problem he intended to rectify at the earliest possible moment. Which, might very well be after he graduated from Hogwarts. There were eyes everywhere, here, and he didn't want this to be tracked back on him.

All the moreso if Snape, of all sneaky, sly, underhanded people, were watching.

Snape muttered, "Cockroach Clusters" to a gargoyle, as Harry trotted to keep up with the tall man's long legs. So _unfair_ that he got to be so _tall_. And did he really just say Cockroach Clusters? What sort of a ... passcode was that?

Snape hurried up the spiral staircase - Harry on his heels, and flung open the door to the Headmaster's office so hard that it shook-

Rather a lot of things, actually.

Harry clean forgot to enter, he was so busy staring at everything. And there were a lot of whizbang dowidgets. By the time his eyes had turned to Dumbledore, they saw a genial old man, who said to him, "Come in, come in! We have a few questions for you about a sixth year Slytherin."

Harry's eyes kept turning, finding first Snape, looking dark in a dark corner (It was fast becoming apparent why people would refer to him as a bat, as he'd chosen the darkest place to stand, and in black robes, no less).

Minerva McGonagall was sitting in a chair - not standing as Snape was, and had her lips pursed. "Sit down, Harry," she said pleasantly.

"Albus, I can't see why you insist on bringing Gryffindors into your office, as if asking them is going to get you any semblance of truth!" Snape exploded.

"Now, Severus Snape, you know why Harry's here." Minerva McGonagall said, "He's here because you lack any more credible suspects."

"Still! I'd rather assume that a dotty Ravenclaw accidentally spilled the potion than blame one of my first year potions students." Snape snarled, "Harry Bloody Potter, your fame isn't helping you today," Snape had a rather fearsome smile on his face, and Harry, who at last seated himself, merely nodded.

"What's happened, sir?" Harry Potter asked, his question directed - at least nominally - towards the Headmaster.

"One of my students was caught last night in a broomcloset." Snape sneered, and Harry honestly couldn't have told whether it was at him or at the student. "This wasn't the first time she's been in a broom closet either."

"She's hardly the first loosey goosey we've had, Severus," Prof McGonagall said.

"She is the first pureblood scion to be in broomclosets with half a dozen young men. And to have been seen, openly, staring at them lovingly in the Great Hall." Snape snapped, "Her reputation is soiled beyond repair. Her family may well disown her..." Snape hissed, "This is an outrage, and I won't stand for it."

The Headmaster said, calmingly, "Nor should you, Professor." Oddly, or perhaps not that oddly, Snape looked more outraged, not less. "But first, we do need to find the culprit."

Harry suddenly remembered the reputation that Dumbledore and Snape had for reading minds. He lifted his eyes up to Dumbledore's beard, and looked at it, as the headmaster asked him, "Did you have anything to do with this, Harry? Tell the truth."

"No, sir." Harry Potter said.

"Obviously," Snape sneered, looking smug. "Why ANYONE would think that a first year Gryffindor could possibly do this?! I have no starkin' idea! It was bad enough bringing the twins in."

"No, a "prank" like this takes persistence, and planning." Snape snarled, "Ingredients that aren't kept in my stores - which have not been burgled,"

"It also takes a motive," Professor McGonagall said, "And you've failed to provide one."

Snape had started pacing behind Harry, who badly wanted to turn around and watch, rather than stare at the Headmaster. Still, he figured if he was small, and quiet, they might forget about him and let him stay.

He _needed_ to know what they decided.

[a/n: Nope, wasn't Snape this time trying to rain blame on Harry. As to why Filius and Pomona aren't there? Eh. Obvious suspects first.

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	106. Halfbreed

Snape spoke, in words soft and precise, as he paced, "It would be a halfbreed," he said, nodding to himself, "Someone who doesn't know what havoc they've wrought."

Harry Potter was on the one hand glad to be finally ignored. If Snape looked up, he'd assume that Harry was just eagerly drinking in the gossip - which, of course, he was - but his mind was also whirling, trying to find any loose ends. The Twins knew - but he'd be a greater fool to try and remove their memories. And they'd just told him, after all, not squealed to the Headmaster, even when they'd been under the microscope.

No, the twins were trustworthy.

And Granger and Ron didn't know about this in the slightest.

His ears tuned back into Snape who was saying, "The closest to this I remember was myself, believe it or not,"

McGonagall had stiffened at that, and was looking at him with reproach.

"Oh, don't give me that look. I only did it to Sirius Black - and I'm frankly not sure anyone noticed!" Snape sneered, "Besides, doing it to a male heir is quite different than potioning up a second born female." Snape sneered, frankly, a little less. He must really not like Mr. Black, Harry thought. "The Heir has value to his house no matter his marriage status. Not that anyone would have sued for marriage with _Black_!"

Snape paced, "That makes at least half a hundred suspects, Minerva,"

"And not a one of them likelier than the next, Sev," Minerva McGonagall volleyed back.

"Still! More likely than your Gryffindor suspects." Snape said, still pacing, "No grudges - no fights, she was so good at being unremarkable. Nothing serious, at any rate. I can't think of a particular person who has a motive larger enough to do something this drastic." Snape whirled, looking at Dumbledore, "Not even if they didn't know what it meant."

Harry felt Snape's eyes resting on him, for a moment, as if the tall man was considering the matter of Harry's Bullying, but he then tossed it aside - Harry had picked the least remarkable person in the bunch.

Harry started to squirm as they moved on to Hufflepuffs, and finally Snape snapped, "Oh, get out of here, Potter, and Stay OUT of Trouble!"

Minerva McGonagall tsked at Snape as Harry went down the spiral staircase, "You know he doesn't try to get in trouble often, Severus Snape."

Harry had to grin at the thought that someone was in his corner. McGonagall had the delightful ability to make Snape look and act like a sulky, sly teenager called onto the carpet.

[a/n: Snape's dropping into more of his actual accent here. He's rather upset, in case you didn't notice.

With Sirius, it really was just a harmless prank.

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	107. Never Again

Harry Potter nearly tore out of the Headmaster's hallway, incensed with himself more than anything. He'd spent the last few months learning spells. Learning how to defend himself!

How could he have been so stupid!

He knew, more than most, that it was Uncle Vernon's legal status over him that kept Harry under his roof. Likewise, it had been the school's legal power that had compelled him to go to school (and especially Dudley who had a particular hatred of the institution).

And yet, here he'd spent months upon months learning spells.

This was ridiculous. He was at a school.

Why weren't they teaching him this?

He'd have to revise everything.

And while he was at it, he'd have to start working harder with Hermione Granger on Occlumency.

Why had he gotten that distracted, anyhow?

Maybe he could tell the Golden Twins (Ron and Hermione) that he _really_ thought they could actually catch the person trying to kill him.

Oh, yes, I'll be the best bait ever!

No, but seriously, he was pretty sure he could get them to believe it.

He sure as hell wouldn't believe it. And, if he truly believed that it was Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of House Slytherin, he'd still run for the hills, even if it made the entire Wizarding World collapse. Hell, he might try being a muggle for a change (Not a Dursley) - maybe sell papers and live in a cardboard box!

Because if Snape was trying to kill him, Harry Potter knew that there were hundreds of undetectable poisons that he couldn't possibly hope to maneuver around - and, as his teacher, Snape might even be legally able to invite him for Tea! (Like McGonagall had done when Harry told her he wanted to leave Hogwarts!)

Yeah, that was just a recipe for disaster, in enumerated fashion.

But he was gut-level-certain it wasn't Snape.

Not that he had much clue who it could be.

[a/n: Yes, he gets headaches in Quirrell's class. No, presence of headaches - which everyone gets in Trelawney's class, does not automatically mean Possessed by Voldemort.

Leave a review!

And, in other news, I actually finished something! Read Sanctuary, a story where i got really, really frustrated with the idea that Everyone Who Knows Voldie Isnt' Dead did nothing for ten years!

... as this story is taking exceptionally long (I'm not even done with the first semester yet!), I thought you might want to know that I can actually finish stories!]


	108. Give me Glory

In the Library, Harry Potter sat, and waited some more, because apparently Ron Weasley was an eating machine, and wouldn't stop until food time was over.

Hermione Granger sat down first, neatly, as Ron Weasley gallumphed over, and sat down with all the disarray he was capable of.

"Have you reconsidered?" Hermione Granger said, "I've thought it over, and I've got fifty reasons you can't leave."

Harry Potter repressed a sigh, and prepared to lie his ass off. "I've only one. I'm a Griffindor, and Griffindors don't run."

Ron had the nerve to slap him on the shoulder, as if he was in need of an attaboy. Hermione was looking at him with a worried expression on her face.

Harry knew he might be committing suicide by sticking to this plan, but - if he managed to survive another attempt, he'd have a more credible reason to leave, anyway.

And more time meant more time to research. More time to learn.

They spent about an hour and a half talking about inconsequential schoolwork - by which Harry meant schoolwork he'd done ages ago, and so had Hermione. Eventually, Harry "remembered" that George had wanted to give Ron a go at chess (by which you can read "Was Bribed By Harry's 7 Sickles").

"You need to get into the Restricted Section." Harry said, "And quickly. I'm not sure how much time we have, before-"

"I know, and I've got some ideas about that," Hermione said, passing Harry an itemized list.

"And I need to learn something about Traditions and Laws." Harry Potter said. "You weren't given anything as a Muggleborn about that?"

"Hardly anything, Harry," Hermione said excitedly, "Just some notion of the Statute of Secrecy."

And Harry Potter abruptly wanted to hit himself on the head with a very large hammer. _The What?_ He asked himself mentally, bidding his mouth be silent for once.

[a/n: And Scene! Leave a review, if you want more story!]


	109. No coaching neither

Harry Potter was sitting in his study corner, busy reading, when Hermione dropped in. Well, at least her hair did, completely blocking his light.

"What _is_ it?" Harry Potter said, irritation at being interrupted being channeled into "You're Annoying Me" - which was far from the case. Harry knew that Hermione would have a solid reason for being there. He just didn't want any eavesdroppers to think that he was excited about Studying (which was the logical conclusion of Hermione showing up).

"Not here," Hermione said, flashing him just the edge of a small, palm-sized piece of parchment.

Harry thought, wryly, to himself, that he might just have to rethink his judgement on Hermione Granger. She could be impressively subtle when she chose.

"Okay," Harry said, popping out from underneath Hermione's curtain of hair. "Where to?"

"Where else?" Hermione said with a reckless grin, and Harry resigned himself to following the madwoman. At least she was a _useful_ madwoman, he amended.

||...|||

"I got it, Harry!" Hermione said, nearly jumping up and down with joy. She at last flashed him the permission slip for the Restricted Section, which he took a moment to look at.

Harry shot Hermione a big grin - not because he was exstatic, but because he was desperately inquisitive. He had to force himself from tearing apart the advanced enchantments on the permission slip. At least he assumed they were there.

"Have you been?" He asked, looking owlishly at her. "Can you take a friend?"

"Harry!" Hermione said, hands on hips, "You haven't even heard how I got it!"

"You managed it, and that's what counts," Harry said, his eyes glittering green with envy.

"You. Are. Going. To. Listen." Hermione said, as Harry slunk down into a crouch, playing "Catch the Snitch" with the permission slip.

... nevermind that it had Hermione Granger's name on it.

"Blah, blah, blah, Quirrel, blah blah blah," Hermione said, as Harry's focus had narrowed to the permission slip, that she was carelessly waving around.

Snatch!

Harry had it, and was out of the room in a flash, with Hermione hot on his heels, laughter pouring out of both their throats, as Harry took the brief and belated time to be a kid again. He'd been so upset with himself for having spent so much time working through plans he then abruptly junked. But this? This was good clean fun. And Hermione didn't have a sport, so he supposed it'd come in handy next time they needed to flee from a new Fluffy.

Occlumency could wait. Not long, but it could wait.

Somewhere in the whole "Chase Harry through the Corridors," Ron had tailed up, following Hermione.

By the time Hermione had managed to corner Harry in a place, and grab the permission slip, Ron ran up (huffing as well), and asked, "Why were you *huff* running around like that?"

Harry grinned, "I filched Hermione's Permission slip to the Restricted Section."

"That's mine, and I wanted it back!" Hermione said, falling back into giggles.

"You're mental. Bloody both mental." Ron said.

[a/n: even Harry knows how to participate in comic relief. He has about three other reasons for running around (one of them being Ron), but Mr. Harry Potter is not Mr. Gloomyguss.

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	110. Feelin' Bad, Not Blue

Harry Potter was heading down into the Slytherin Dungeons. It wasn't a schoolday, so he'd slipped on a muggle shirt and pants under the robes. He quite honestly felt bad about how much he'd ruined that Slytherin chit's life, but he wasn't going to think about that right now.

No, right now he was going to concentrate on Feelin' Bad.

Specifically - Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to Know.

He knew the faces he was looking for, and he knew that it would be hard to find them.

But Harry'd had a lot of experience waiting, and nearly endless patience.

Besides, if you looked enough like a wolf, predators left you the fuck alone.

Harry'd taught that dog a lesson when he was four, and it stuck with him.

Didn't stop Dudley from trying to beat him - or Harry from fleeing.

That was family, and you couldn't exactly run from family. Well, keep running, anyway. Harry knew he could have put the fear of dog into Dudley at any point. But his Aunt and Uncle woulda just taken away... well, more things than they already had. He might have got a collar and a doghouse to live in. Wouldn't that be fun? The Dog-Boy of Privet Drive?

But here? With Slytherins?

Shooting apples in a barrel.

All he had to do was look Warrington in the eye, and smirk... which he did, finding Warrington holding the arm of one of the Carrow sisters. Warrington paled, flushed and pulled the mediocre girl on quickly, despite her protests.

And then, well, he needed to find Cassie Crane. She was the other leader, but a smirk wasn't going to do for her. No, he shadowed her, waiting until she was in a darker hallway, and then he was on top of her, his soft footsteps turning into a bumrush - his shoulder quite literally hitting her bum. She hit facefirst, with a crack that he'd later learn was her jaw.

She rolled, reaching for her wand, to find Harry Potter standing over her, straddling her. And smirking.

"Remember me fondly," Harry said, walking away with a smirk on his face. Unbeknownst to either of them, the Bloody Baron was listening, the corners of his lips turned upward.

/||/|/

Snape was incensed. He'd assigned the Potter boy another detention, but there was no one waiting for him afterwards. It seemed... it seemed like his proud House was inhabited by fools. Fools who thought Potter had been responsible for The Incident. Inside himself, Despite Himself, Snape felt the "what if" question rearing its foul head, but he squelched it with a series of precisely sharp blows.

1) It was Potter, the boy who was a showboat at the best of times. If he'd done it, everyone in Gryffindor would know, and few of those knew how to keep their mouths shut.

2) The boy hadn't shown the least concept of subtlety, and Snape watched all his first years as a matter of habit. Often there was a Hufflepuff or two with potential, that properly nourished might amount to something. Not that Snape could be seen ...

3) The talentless brat hadn't shown the least amount of proficiency in his class, despite his obvious ability to follow directions in detention.

No, it was patently ridiculous.

And yet the students stayed stubbornly away.

Perhaps he should try a Weasley?

Or just bring down the boom on the lot, come what may?

[a/n: Snape's always a few steps ahead. Review please!]


	111. Ethereal

Harry Potter sat on his broom, flying in lazy circles. He'd read all the books Hermione had found in the Restricted Section from cover to cover, and now he just had to do it. And Quiddich practice was exactly the breeze he needed.

Literally, in this case.

Harry Potter's room had always been dark - and when he'd slept, when it wasn't light outside, it was often pitch black. He'd gotten used to being quiet, not wasting electricity, feeling his way in the dark.

The wind, the air, in the sky - it was even more invisible. And Harry knew his sense of touch was keener than most, anyway.

So his thoughts, his memories were flung skyward, molded into different gusts of wind, some halycon, others fierce. And the most secret of all went past the stratosphere, up into the Heaviside layer - surrounded by Muggle static electricity, powered by his own belief.

Down on the ground, he made another memory castle. One full of fake memories, of ones that he could use as bait. Or as traps. Harry'd stored enough of his safe memories there, anyway... but there were duplicates. His memories were his, and he cared far less that someone might read them, than that they might destroy them.

Without his memories, who was he, really?

Just another stupid Gryffindor.

That wasn't happening, never ever.

[a/n: Just a view from the sky, Harry's hair ruffled by the wind. As you might have noticed, he doesn't really pay much attention to Quiddich practice.

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	112. Book Palace

Harry and Hermione had gathered beneath the Quiddich bleachers, someplace that nobody frequented, and a good place for a bit of quiet time. In this case, they were studying, but they hadn't wanted to be caught in a classroom - and nearly anyone could wander in there. The only people who would come under the bleachers were adolescents looking for some hormonal relief, and Harry felt sure that those types knew enough to leave other couples alone, lest they be interrupted as well. It was a Gentleman's Code for people who certainly weren't gentlemen. Still, it was a better shot than a classroom. Or, worse, the Library. Or, absolute worst, the Gryffindor Common Room - Madhouse, it would be better called!

Harry looked into Hermione's mind, which was organized, quite predictably, into her childhood home. Except that every cupboard and storage area was full of books. It was a fine organization scheme, and one that he could probably get lost in for days. But what it wasn't was an easily defensible fortress.

Outside of their minds, Harry drew close to Hermione, close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.

Harry could see the first twinges of fear on her face, as he pulled closer still. _Just a bit more, just to pull it to the surface..._

Harry pushed Hermione onto her back, and as she started to struggle, he found the vein of fear.

Leaping, he pulled on it, and image after image streamed in front of his face.

Hermione getting rejected when she'd wanted to play with the other girls.

Hermione laughed at for being a know-it-all - _no wonder she'd developed such tough skin_

Hermione getting splashed by mud, and then her parents calling her a ragamuffin.

Image after image of her being afraid, cowed, small hurled through his head. Harry wanted to back out, but he didn't know how.

Finally, Hermione's hands reached his chest, and as she threw him off, she cut his connection.

Harry didn't feel anything after that.

Harry came to, a long while later, with Hermione blotchy and red-faced, as if she'd been...

"I'm sorry, " Harry said, at nearly the same time Hermione had said it.

"I didn't mean to hurt you! just, stop you!" Hermione said.

"I needed you to understand," Harry said, smiling wearily. "It's not enough to be organized, it also has to be hidden. You've got to reorganize so that people can't attack you so easily.."

"I also need to keep my emotions under a tighter leash," Hermione said, smiling grimly, "Otherwise, you can just use them to penetrate."

"You'll get there, Hermione" Harry said, the full weight of his confidence thudding through his words.

[a/n: blacked out, did we Harry? Might want to be a bit more delicate next time, Harry?

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	113. Three months in

It was breakfast-time, and Harry had gotten an Owl! It was a small brown one, nondescript, really.

Harry looked at Ron, asking, "What do I do?" in the quietest whisper he could.

"Give it a treat!" Ron said affably.

"Um?" Harry Potter said, unwilling to admit - "Do you have one? Trade you a sickle for it."

"That's highway robbery!" Ron said, tossing him an "owl treat" (it looked like beef jerky to Harry). "But so long as it's me doing the robbin' " Ron's face split into a wide grin. _That was Ron for you - greedy to a fault._

Harry gave the owl the treat, and it extended its leg to him. He frowned, as he looked at the laminated piece of paper.

Of Paper, of all things. _Aunt Petunia?_ Harry thought, _is something wrong?_

Harry's eyes were wider than they should have been (were his a normal family, and this a normal piece of correspondence.), "So, how do I get it off?"

Ron said automatically, "You untie the ... string?"

Harry and Hermione and Ron all saw that there wasn't a string, at all.

Hermione said firmly, "Harry, grab the owl. We're leaving." As she stood, and the boys followed (the owl wrapped securely in Harry's robes, like a cat in a beachtowel), she said to Ron, "I hope you have more owl treats."

They got to a nearby classroom, as Hermione pulled out one of her quill sharpening blades (short, like a small, straight razor on a stick). "Harry, show me it's foot."

The owl had gone seemingly motionlessly quiet - Harry recognized the behavior, just like that of a seething cat. It was going to bite him when this was done, he was sure of it. Of course it wouldn't blame Hermione, whose idea it'd been. It was an owl, after all.

With great care, Harry maneuvered it's leg out, and Hermione neatly sliced the laminated paper off.

They unrolled the note (it came in thirds), and Harry (rather unwillingly) let everyone read it.

 _Nephew,_

 _I hope you enjoy your new school enough to stay there over the holiday!_

 _Things are about as you'd expect here._

 _Always remember, appearances can be deceiving -_

 _and that goes doubly for those Wizards!_

 _Aunt Petunia_

 _p.s. It took me a dog's age to catch one of these miserable owls!_

 _If you're going to reply, please use the post!_

It was good advice, Harry thought, both asking him to stay for Christmas, and warning him about, well, everyone really. Harry wondered how much of this was because her very own sister had perished from a Wizarding attack, and how much Aunt Petunia actually cared about him.

Growing up, he'd been convinced that she hadn't cared one miserable iota about him.

But it took work to catch a owl, and this wasn't something she'd needed to do.

 _Three months in_ , Harry thought, leaning back with a ridiculous smirk on his face.

 _Just exactly how long had it taken her to catch the wee owl?_

[a/n: Leave reviews! Probably going to hit another occulumancy lesson and then skip to Christmas. ]


	114. Mindcontrol

Harry and Hermione were working on their self control, which sounded a lot easier than it was turning out to be.

Appparently there was a reason teachers avoided this until people reached adulthood. Emotions were the mindkillers, one of the few things guaranteed to allow someone access to wherever you didn't want them to go.

And Harry had a lot of things he didn't want Hermione to find out about. Not that he was deluded enough to think he'd been really bad off. He hadn't had his aunt or uncle try to kill him (Dudley on the other hand... always too incompetent to actually manage it.), unlike Neville. Oh, sure, Harry'd heard Neville talk about bouncing on the way down, and all. But, the thing of it was, if he'd really been a squib, he'd have died. And they wouldn't have shed a single tear. Harry often wondered if Neville's gran would actually have been all that upset, even.

Harry'd mostly just been told to be quiet, and tuck himself into his cupboard. That was doable, right? In fact, his life didn't look so different from Hermione's - he'd read a lot too.

Focus.

He needed focus, and so did Hermione. Her worst memories focused on being humiliated in school by stupid morons, and Harry tried to say... well, he would have said something, if only he could think what to say.

Eventually, he settled on, "Don't listen to them, Hermione."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"All those kids, what they said about you. Teacher's pet, all that sort of thing." Harry got a quirky smile on his face, leaning back and continuing, "What kind of teacher's pet sets fire to a teacher's robes, of all things?"

Hermione looked around frantically, beating Harry over the head with a piece of parchment as she shoved him, "Harry!"

They both laughed, though, because Harry'd made a good point.

Aside from scouring each other's brains until they were clean, Harry and Hermione just worked hard on it. Hermione had discovered some books on meditation, and she'd had them doing exercises.

Predictably, Ron had joined them for one session, declared himself bored halfway through, and never come again.

He hadn't even asked why they were doing it, and he nearly always did so when he complained.

[a/n: Leave a note or review! I'm not sure most people who write about kids learning difficult mental disciplines really take into account that They're Kids. They will learn this, but it'll take a LOT of time and effort.]


	115. Ridiculously wrong

His hand only slightly cramped today, Severus Snape looked up from his near endless grading, calling out in his usual trained voice, "Enter," He knew who it was, and so didn't bother to look up. Harry Potter entered, and closed the door softly. He came near the desk, and stood there awkwardly, shifting back and forth from foot to foot.

Which was good, as Snape hadn't _quite_ decided what to do.

You see, this week had gone ridiculously wrong. Somehow, despite four tricky potions (two for his NEWT class, and another for his OWLs), no one had managed to scotch a cauldron. And Snape was familiar with Potter's work ethic - it was the _only_ good thing about the lad. Too short, too slight, couldn't fly a broom without getting into enough trouble for ten grown men... But, by golly, the lad could work.

And so Snape had expected to simply set him another set of cauldrons. But there weren't any - even his own experiments (furthered by the lack of detentions) had gone surprisingly well. His modifications to the Wolfsbane potion might actually manage to keep werewolves alive for more than thirty years! Decreasing the toxicity had been his primary thrust, but he'd also managed to make it more unpalatable (which, yes, was a petty revenge for Lupin's past, but it still tasted sweet).

If Potter had been older... but no, that was lunacy. He'd never so much as considered giving a first year potions ingredients to prepare. Not for Real Potions, and not simply Classtime. He hastily thrust the entire thought out of his mind.

Instead, Snape said, "You'll be reorganizing my potions stores today. Every day someone misplaces something, and by three months in, it's bound to be an absolute wreck."

"Thank you sir," Harry Potter said, and oddly enough, the boy did actually look thankful. It was certainly cleaner work than cleaning flobberworms!

Snape had been forced to keep up his detention schedule with the oddly diligent Gryffindor. He remained oddly polite in detention, though Snape put that down to his general rudeness being attention-seeking behavior. _Oh, lookit me! I can insult the Potions Prof!_ It was immature and stupid to boot, and Snape was _not_ amused.

But unlike the Weasley child, at least he didn't need to precisely supervise Potter's detentions. He could let the boy have at it, and finish his grading to boot. At some point, Snape was sure, these detentions would teach Potter to hold his tongue. But Snape hoped that would come later rather than earlier.

[a/n: Yes, Snape is _unbelievably_ petty. And Harry really is only that mouthy in front of his friends, it's a perfectly natural thought.

Snape ignoring Potter's diligence can be chalked up to _sees what he wants to._.

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	116. December Morning

It was late, so late it was probably early someplace closer than Harry'd like to admit. Everyone had cheerfully headed home for the holidays, well, everyone except him. Oh, sure, there were a few fifth years, and that gangly, awkward senior, but mostly everyone had gone home.

Harry was doing his nightly perambulations, trying not to run into Snape, again. That always landed him in detention, and he didn't want to know what Snape would do in between semesters. He might dream up something twice as ghastly as cauldrons! Maybe it would be with Filch.

Harry found a room he didn't recognize, up here on the eighth floor, where everything got all weird and fuzzy if you didn't look at it for a while.

He stepped inside, seeing at first what he thought was just a black portrait. Suddenly, Harry saw a dark eye appear, as if someone had rough-cut a piece out of someone's face. The eye widened, for a moment, and then disappeared.

Harry was left staring into the darkness. "I show not your face but your heart's desire," Harry read, and felt a shiver up his spine.

All Harry was looking at was blackness. Harry shook himself. He did not want to go back to the closet. Whatever the ... artifact was showing, it wasn't that.

Death, maybe? Oblivion? Sleep? Was sleep really his heart's desire.

"Oh, there you are, Mister Potter," Headmaster Dumbledore said. "I see you've found my mirror."

"Strange mirror, sir. Doesn't seem to show my reflection." Harry Potter said, his eyes still locked on the darkness... did it just... move? swirl, almost... blueblack moving across ashblack.

"Oh, it wouldn't. Have you figured out what it does show?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry briefly considered lying, but figured being able to read was actually something most Gryffindors could do, "It shows one's heart's desire."

"Aye, that it does. What does it show you, if I can ask?" Dumbledore said genially.

Harry wanted to snarl, to say that it did matter, and he didn't want to share, "Only if you'll tell me what you see first, sir?"

"Step away and I'll tell you," Dumbledore said, and Harry wondered if that was a command or a question.

"Of course sir," Harry said.

"Ooo! Of course, of course," Dumbledore said, his bearded face breaking into a broad smile, "I see a new pair of woolen socks. Taupe, if you can believe it."

It was a lie, a blatant, naked lie. Harry wanted to lie back, but he wasn't quite sure what he should say. "I thought you liked the ones with stars on them, or violent purple, or impeligo blue!"

Dumbledore laughed, "So I thought too. It appears I was wrong."

Dumbledore waited expectantly, listening carefully. Harry fought back the urge to sigh, "I saw blackness, sir. Nothing more."

Dumbledore's face didn't change much, but Harry could tell it was troubled, "My boy, I must ask you not to come back here. Many have lost their lives staring into this, dreaming of things that cannot be."

"I just don't understand, sir. Is it death that's my heart's desire?"

For once, Dumbledore was honest, when he responded, "I wish I knew, my boy, I wish I knew."

Neither boy nor old man saw the silver shadow leaving the corridor. That was for the best.

[a/n: Because this had to go in. Speculation, as always, is very welcome. What do you think Harry was seeing? Leave reviews, dear readers!]


	117. Spoilers Ahoy!

Christmas Eve was cold and snowy, as Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room, watching the snow fall down, sparkling in the cruel winter sun. He'd hated days like this at the Dursleys' - he couldn't hide outside, and, worse yet, they knew it. So, whenever they needed a buttmonkey, he was there. "HARRY!" Dudley'd cry, and Harry had to come, he just had to. Even for punches "for good luck" - the bruises certainly didn't give anything of the sort.

Hogwarts was lonely on Winter Break - there were teachers, sure, but they were grading papers, or otherwise enjoying a bit of privacy. Harry'd buried himself in the library, reading as much as he could - for once, he only needed to dodge Pence's quiet presence, so he got a lot of reading done, and was already considering the moves he'd need to become an animagus.*

/########/

The next day dawned cold, and Harry hadn't wanted to get out of bed, not even for breakfast. So it was halfway through the morning (when he finally convinced himself he couldn't sleep more) that he got up and saw he had presents.

Ron's... mother? Had sent Harry a present. Not Ron himself (of course), but then again, Harry hadn't sent anyone anything. He hadn't really expected anything.

Oh, and there was a letter from... Aunt Petunia. Harry braced himself for a moment, remembering some of what Uncle Vernon had often said to him. Inside there was a fifty pence coin, and a simple note, "This was hers." Harry smiled, and tried to imagine what his mum would have done with the coin. Why she'd kept it, because most people just spent coinage, nothing of significance. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have just sent him something without any sentimental value... would she? No, the remarkable part was that Aunt Petunia had kept the coin. Aunt Petunia had never struck Harry as the nostalgic or sentimental type. Still, Harry thought, she was her sister.

Hermione Granger had gotten him a book on the Potters, with a sketched out family tree stretching into the fifth generation. Interestingly enough, Malfoy was Harry's second cousin. Harry wrinkled his nose at that fact. Really, who'd want to be related to that massive git?

Everyone else from his dorm room had given chocolates to Harry, which made him vaguely uncomfortable. Did that mean Ron didn't have the money...?

Harry hadn't got anyone anything. Still, he was finished with his homework, and he had plenty of time to create something special.

And then Harry found the final present - a box, with a suspicious handwriting on it, that he didn't recognize, "To Harry Potter, from Santa Claus." Harry frowned, and started to cast detection spells. Not that he would trust himself with determining that it was safe. He just wanted to catch it if he could. He must have spent a full hour casting spells, including a full book consultation four times.

Nothing. Off to McGonagall it went, Harry thought as he wrapped it in his blanket.

*No, not for a while yet. He plans. It's ridiculous for a first year to become an animagus. And he's NOT a prodigy. Studies a lot, sure, but that's That.

[a/n: Harry's Heart's Desire was actually a hug from Snape. Just because it's what his heart wants, doesn't mean he'll recognize it if it stared him in the face (you know, like out of a mirror!).

More reviews gets you more story. Up Next: Malfoy and McGonagall!]


	118. Handwriting

Professor Minerva McGonagall had, previous to this, thought she had known everything that might ever happen in a school.

She had not, however, expected to be confronted by a young Harry Potter, still in ill-fitting pajamas (his pants were showing out the back, and he looked to have pinned them up to get them that well-fitted). And, of all things, he was carrying his blanket, all bunched in a ball.

"Have you had a nightmare?" Professor McGonagall asked gently, "On Christmas of all days?"

"No, ma'am," Harry Potter said gently. "But I received a present, and I don't know who it's from!"

"And is this why you're here?" Professor McGonagall asked, not understanding why he wouldn't be glad to have a present, and perhaps a new friend.

"Ma'am, I was hoping you could check it, for spells or poisons or what not." Harry Potter said.

Professor McGonagall snatched the - she could now see - box covered in blanket from her student. "Mister Potter, I hope you don't think Hogwarts so poorly defended that someone could..." she said, as she bustled into her office door.

"Someone's tried to kill me, Professor." Harry said clearly, "And someone else dosed that poor Slytherin girl with a potion."

"And how would you know that, Mister Potter," Professor McGonagall said sternly.

"It's a standard muggle trope, and on top of that, it's the only way i've read about. Add that to the idea that Snape used it himself, and his specialty is potions... and I think I made a reasonable guess." Harry Potter said.

McGonagall unwrapped the box. "Oh, Albus!" she said, her eyes filling with tears.

"Who?"

Professor McGonagall regained some of her sternness, "This is gifted from the Headmaster, but I daresay you'll want it anyway."

Harry was abruptly aware of Professor McGonagall's cat-bright eyes, studying him.

"Will you test it anyway, just to be sure?" Harry Potter said, trying for young and innocent, not older-than-he-looks and crafty.

"Of course, but now you're just being silly,"Professor McGonagall said. Twenty minutes later, Harry had his box and blanket back. He turned to leave, when McGonagall said, "Oh, no you don't. I spent twenty minutes of my holiday checking your gift. You're going to at least show me what it is."

Harry blinked, turning around in a bit of confusion, "I'm sorry, I truly thought you wouldn't care." He opened the box, and something slithered out over his hands. He bent down to pick it up, and found himself looking at the bare floor. "Where is it?" Harry asked distractedly, not noticing McGonagall's expression.

"Why, it's right there." Professor McGonagall said, "Just bend down, and use your hands."

Harry did, in fact, use his hands, picking up the - Harry shrieked as his hands disappeared, flexing them to be sure they were still attached. When he spoke, his voiced was hushed, "What is it?" Harry asked.

"An invisibility cloak. It was probably your fathers."

[a/n: Leave a review?]


	119. Call me a child

Harry got an owl on Christmas Day. It was from Hagrid, asking Harry to come and meet him down at his hut. It implied that Hagrid had a present for Harry. And, Harry thought with a bit of chagrin, _Call me a child, but I want more presents!_ He'd not had one before this year, of course. Well, other than a few hangers, and a blanket once.

Harry ate breakfast quickly, trying not to look at anyone else. There were many people around, and he didn't want people to ask what he was doing. He also didn't want to get sucked into another conversation.

Presents!

He ran out into the cold, forgetting completely about his jacket and not missing it in the slightest, as he charged forth into the snow. He gave a loud belly laugh as he ran, enjoying the fitness that he'd gained instead of letting Dudley just beat him.

Hagrid's hut was warm and cozy, and Hagrid let him in with a "Hullo Harry!" and a great big hug!

Hagrid's one main drawback was that he lacked the ability to look crafty. Instead, his face split into a great big smile, as he said, "I've got a surprise for you!"

"Is it a present?" Harry asked, succumbing to the temptation to play the child.

"Of course! Here you go," Hagrid said, passing Harry a clumsily wrapped gift.

Harry took it. It felt heavy. "What is it?" Harry asked, gently shaking it.

"Open it and see!" Hagrid said.

Harry continued to examine it, even the smell. "Hmm... it smells new..." When, after ten minutes, he actually got around to opening the gift, he saw that it was a photo album. Opening it, he saw pictures of his parents.

Honestly, Harry wasn't sure what to think. Was he supposed to treasure this? These were people who he didn't know, his genetic ancestors. Was it good to see how they moved? How they smiled?

"Thank you, Hagrid," He said, smiling, "I haven't seen pictures of them before."

"Got you one other thing, too," Hagrid said, and passed over a flute. "Made it myself. Fluffy does like a bit of a tune, now and again."

"Thanks Hagrid!" Harry said more sincerely, before running back to the castle. He wasn't sure what Hagrid was thinking, telling him how to tame such a savage beast. But in Harry's book, knowledge like that was golden.

After all, what if it got loose like the troll?

[a/n: Leave reviews!]


	120. Did you think I was blind?

Severus Snape was a cautious man, by training and by temperment. He was... displeased, that there were some Slytherins who were not. Slytherins ought to be cautious and cunning, sneaky and wise; betraying nothing as they weave their lies. It was an old saying, and yet it still held true.

He breathed in and out through his nose, taking long, deep breaths. In spite of his fury, he would be ice.

Snape strode through the door from his private chambers into his study, where a handful of Slytherins sat uneasily, their cameraderie and resolve eroded by the questions they'd thought up while waiting.

The door hit the wall behind him, and were the wall not stone, it would have buckled. The door swung back hard, locking itself.

Snape strode up to the front of the room. "Did you think I was blind?!" he asked the students, who exchanged easy and terrified looks at each other.

"N-!" one of the boys started, before Snape brutally cut him off.

"You thought, for one moment, that I did not know what you were doing, in Hogwarts' own dungeons?" Snape's inky eyes found the boy who had started to talk. He loomed over the boy's seated form, as his eyes narrowed, "Or did you think I approved?"

Jaws swung at that remark. Children shifted uneasily in their chairs, as if they had thought he'd actually approve.

"Where is your cunning, Slytherins? Where is your patience?" Snape said, throwing up his hands, his eyes and voice projected up toward the ceiling, as if calling on God or Merlin to intervene.

"You are a disgrace," Snape spat, his voice so low it rumbled, and so soft that they leaned forward to hear the poison spilling out of his lips. "Were Slytherin alive, he would have you killed."

Snape's eyes sparkled cold, "I am _not_ that merciful. For unwary Slytherins that do not know how to comport themselves in the home of their enemy? You have earned my wrath." Snape sounded nearly friendly, his voice relaxed. He knew he didn't need to stretch to make these children fear him. They all had heard from their elders enough about him, during The War.

"We will begin your punishment with a Trial of Pain." Snape said with satisfaction. "Before tommorrow, you will find my potions lab, and clean the cauldrons I have sullied over break. They will be sparkling, will they not?" Snape smirked, "Use of magic will result in expulsion, if not worse." His eyes glimmered a warning.

The students sat in their chairs, trembling.

Snape, with his characteristic impatience, suddenly snapped, "What are you waiting for? Go! _**Go**_!"

He had the good grace to wait until they'd left and the door was safely shut and warded before he laughed in delight.

[a/n: Snape is not a nice man. Snape enjoys intimidating people he has power over. This is not new.

Leave a review!]


	121. Riotous Laughter

Harry Potter's world rang with laughter again, as the new term started. Snowballs and snowforts were all the rage.

Harry'd never played in a snowball fight before, and the sheer exhuberance of making and then throwing the snowballs far made up for practically never hitting anyone. Anyone older than third year had a shield, after all. The Twins, Ron, Hermione- even Neville were outside throwing snowballs.

When a passel of Slytherins traipsed by, they were roped in too...

Even Pomona Sprout, fresh out of the steamy greenhouse, fell victim to a snowball to the back of her head.

It was light, and laughter, and Harry for a bit forgot that someone was out to kill him.

He'd made a pyramid of snowballs, and had stood behind a snow wall, throwing them as Hermione called out the shots. Gleefully, he made exploding bomb noises, not caring that no one would understand.

Hermione grabbed the second to last snowball, and threw it _hard_. His hand on the last snowball, Harry popped his head up over the wall, feeling a little like a prarie dog. Harry saw a very familiar outline, with inky black hair turning around, snow still dripping from his head. It was Snape.

Harry ducked under the wall, hoping he was quick enough to hide.

He wasn't.

"Potter," Snape said coldly. "Detention. And you're lucky it's that. Assaulting professors will not be tolerated."

"But, sir!" Hermione said.

"Shut up, Hermione," Harry said, trying for gallant, though with his voice so dry, he wasn't sure it actually worked. "I was the one who threw it, I don't care if you made it or not."

Snape nodded gravely, and said, "Tomorrow. Bring your Potions assignment, assuming you've completed it."

Harry's brow creased, as he watched Snape stride away. "He's never asked for something like that..."

"Maybe he wants to help you?" Hermione asked.

"Fat chance," Harry said, as Ron Weasley bounded over, out of the other snow-walled fort.

"You hit Snape!" Ron bounced, a wide grin on his face.

Harry growled at him, "It's not funny. I've got detention..." Harry knew he was pouring it on a little thick, but luckily enough Ron never seemed to mind.

[a/n: Just reminding you I'm still alive. Reviews, as always, get you more story.]


	122. Mister Potter

Harry was supposed to be heading down to detention, however, Professor McGonagall had stopped him and guided him into her office. Harry just wanted out, really, but she was determined to 'counsel' him about his nighttime wanderings. It wasn't as if he'd been doing them on a schoolnight! Just when it was Christmas. She seemed to think that he "wasn't fitting in" or was "perhaps having a nightmare." Harry'd been tempted to say that _She_ was the nightmare for not letting him get to detention.

Instead, Harry let her talk, and only once she'd petered out, did he ask, "May I have a note, I'm bound to be late for detention."

Prof. McGonagall had sighed and said, "Yes, you may." She scrawled it out, and said, "Off you go."

Harry bolted downstairs, though he swore he could hear someone above him yelling, "No running indoors." Probably Percy, Harry thought with a grin. By the time he was in the dungeons, he was both on the lookout for stray feet (which could trip him up), and trying not to look like a hellion on a rocket sled.

By the time he'd knocked on the door to Snape's classroom, Snape opened it himself (having stood there for how long, Harry wondered). "Late, Potter? This is exceptional even for you."

Harry nodded, "Sorry, sir. I've got a note."

Snape read the note, in full, his hair falling down across his face. Then he looked up and said, "Fortunately for you, and rather Un-fortunately for me, I have a staff meeting today. So I cannot supervise your detention. We will reschedule for tommorrow."

"Sir?" Harry asked, "Why is a staff meeting such an unfortunate occurrence?"

"It is a waste of time, where the teachers gossip instead of providing accurate assessments. Rarely is anything done about even the most rambunctious of students." Harry read that as TheTwins, because of course that was who he meant. "I'd just as soon not go." Snape said firmly. "Alas, it is a condition of my employment."

Snape strode off without another word, and Harry started to plan. Because Snape might have to go... but... Harry had a mischievious thought, and he knew just who to recruit to help him do it.

[a/n: Your weekly reminder: Harry's a first year. He's really not good at many spells. What do you thin he's doing? Leave a review? UpNext: Quiddich and more Quiddich. Joy.]


	123. Quids

Harry sat outside, reading a textbook by the black lake. It was peaceful and quiet.

Or it would have been, if Oliver Wood wasn't running as quickly as he could in a direct line towards Harry. Concealing a sigh, Harry closed his book.

Redfaced, Oliver stopped about five feet from Harry, bending over and huffing. Harry appreciated this, as it meant he wouldn't have to deal with Oliver's sweat on his robes.

"What's news?" Harry asked.

After about half a minute of panting, Oliver said, "Snape's going to referee our next match."

Harry blinked. Just what was the cotton-pickin' urgency to run out and tell him that? "So?"

"So, mate, he hates you. I wanted to warn you to be careful." Oliver said sternly.

"I'm always careful. 'Snot my fault someone decided to curse my broom." Harry said, eliding over the idea that Snape, a teacher of longstanding, would probably not try to hurt a student. And definitely not in front of a thousand witnesses.

"Yeah, I heard that someone was Snape!" Oliver said, his face darkening.

"Even the Headmaster doesn't know," Harry said simply. "But I'll be super extra specially careful, I promise."

* * *

Harry put off telling his friend (and Ron) until about a week before the match, because he figured that they'd go ballistic, and see something there that was entirely an illusion.

They did, of course.

"Mate! He's gonna kill you for real this time!" Ron gibbered, and Harry politely refrained from pointing out that all deaths were "for Real".

"I can't distract him if he's up in the air." Hermione moaned.

"Maybe I can get the twins to do it," Harry chirped up helpfully.

Ron perked up, "Hey, that's a thought!"

"A bad thought," Harry said almost at the same time as Hermione did. They stopped and looked at each other.

"Then why would you mention it if you thought it was bad?" Hermione asked querulously.

"Stress relief," Harry said, lacing his hands behind his head. "Someone's out to kill me, you know?"

* * *

The next morning, Harry made a discrete visit to the twins demense. "I need you two to figure out what the least amount of damage you can do to someone to get them to the hospital wing."

Both redheads blinked at him, "You aren't plannning... on skiving are you?"

"Nope, it's for a prank," Harry said with a grin bordering on manic and genuine. _It's to help someone else skive, to be honest. But all will be revealed in good time._

[A/n: Reviews mean more story. Sorry this one got left to languish so long.]


	124. Jinxing Hogwarts

Deep in the heart of Hogwarts, Harry and Hermione played in a thick green maze, darting back and forth, laughing uproariously. Sometimes Harry tried to throw a spell, sometimes Hermione hissed back a curse (magic or no). And then they turned and played hide and go seek. Harry at some point managed to jump on Hermione, and she fell to the ground, "Buck Buck I win!" Harry said, laughing.

"Great job, Fat Albert," Hermione said with some bite, but nothing could defeat Harry's ecstatic mood.

From all around them echoed the tinny beeping of a pocket watch. With a sigh, the world around them dissolved.

As they opened their eyes, they found themselves in Hogwarts again, in a dusty old classroom on the floor. "Hey, nobody fell over this time!"

"All thanks to you..."

* * *

The teachers all wore slight frowns, except for Snape, who was his usual gruff self. Harry had the odd feeling that the world could be on fire, the giant Squid could be infiltrating Hogwarts, and Snape's manner would not change one whit.

They were pused to pranks, to small things gone wrong for a laugh.

This was different. Small injuries, but a plague of them, all over the school.

Harry'd seen Snape dragging a tall Gryffindor girl into the infirmary, her face darkened with the remains of an explosion.

The Twins were solving the first part of the puzzle.

And it was driving the teachers - and the Prefects, completely batty.

* * *

Harry was working on a third year charm, understanding the wand movements, when someone cut off his light. Looking up, he saw a familiar redheaded back of the head.

Twin George/Fred said: "This is spreading more madness than our pranks!"

"How can we thank you, General of Chaos?"

"When you've finished your list, we'll have to think of some way to counterspell the jinx, won't we?" Harry grinned. "I bet we could come up with something creative."

"We're on it, high lord of comedy."

[a/n: No, I'm not going the Champion of comedy route. Leave a rview]


	125. FlyBoy

Harry was stretched, and ready, and rather looking forward to the Quiddich game. Not because he particularly liked the game, and certainly not because someone might try to kill him.

But at least Oliver Wood would be off his back.

Harry knew his friend Hermione, and Ron worried about him - that they'd told him to be extra careful, and that they'd have their wands about.

What they could do against an experienced, full-fledged wizard? Harry didn't know, though Hermione could at least try to put a bloke _on fire_. Again.

He couldn't convince his friends that it was nearly certainly not Snape, and that if it had been Snape, he'd been doing it with entirely other goals in mind. (Harry took the next five minutes coming up with dozens of reasons why, anything from removing Dumbledore as Headmaster due to incompetence, to Snape trying to get Harry to be better at Potions.) That last one was such a stretch that it was a relief that Ollie said, "Up and out!"

They were all on the field, and Harry shook hands with the bloke who was at least triple his size. Cedric was what the announcer called him.

Harry gave a wide, barred-teeth grin.

If _Snape_ was refereeing, Harry fully intended to make the game worth his while.

As the whistle blew, Harry started to **_fly_** , like a peregrine falcon, swirling circles heading higher (there were no limits to height in Quiddich). Cedric followed him, and Harry started making swallow swoops, using eight of them in a row to put him below the level of the hoops, and then, in a twisting barrel roll, he headed straight vertical.

Harry felt gleeful, just enjoying the wind whipping past his face. He knew his lips would be chapped, and everything.

He caught sight of the snitch, and felt his entire world narrow to that one point. He avoided it, carefully, drawing Cedric into flying through hoops and down under the goalposts, smoothly sliding out from under the Beaters, and dodging the quaffle while he was at it.

Harry kept feinting, kept working to keep Cedric away from the Snitch, pretending he'd seen it, over and over again, keeping Cedric following him as quickly as he could.

Thirty minutes in, almost as though Harry forgot to not chase the Snitch, he grabbed it.

Gryffindor still won, which was disappointing. Harry, though, wasn't about to apologize. He'd done his part, procratinated, even - and enjoyed the hell out of having a fine flying partner like Cedric.

It wasn't at all like flying against Slytherin.

As they all landed, Harry offered Cedric a handshake, saying, "Good Game!" Cedric grabbed Harry's small hand in his big bearpaw, and then tugged him close, giving him a bearhug. Harry, first, had to fight to avoid flinching, and then fought to not quiver - dozens of scenarios where Harry's vision was obscured, and therefore he wound up dead, danced in his head.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught Snape, still flying, eyes fixed on the crowd.

Cedric's hands were on Harry's shoulders, holding him at arm's length. "You too." Cedric said with a gleaming grin.

There was a rollicking party in Gryffindor that night, but Harry slipped out carefully, before people really got drunk. He was sure the twins noticed, and hoped Ron didn't. Ron was quite content to eat Harry's share anyway.

[a/n: Review? Harry's a bit more canny than canon.]


	126. Words in a forgotten corridor

Harry Potter liked walking Hogwarts halls, even when it was quiet as a tomb. Perhaps especially then.

It was nice, in its own way, to enjoy the receptiveness of the place. On this night, he hadn't asked himself to go anywhere special, so he was surprised to hear voices, as he approached a cross-corridor.

Snape... and Quirrel?

Harry Potter remembered what he'd done at the Dursleys, finding a place with good echoes, not confusing ones*.

"Just what exactly do you think you're doing?" Snape hissed.

"I think it's smarter for you to think of what you're doing, and where your loyalties lie." Quirrel said snidely. _Loyalties... divided._

"You'll rue the day you reached for glory," Snape snarled. _From personal experience?_

"And you'll rue the day you turned your coat, Renegade." Quirrel responded. _Renegade wasn't a term for a turncoat. It was a term for someone without allegiance, who'd turned his coat so many times you couldn't figure out which way was supposed to be out anymore._

Harry was quite glad that they strolled away. And then he abruptly realized that Quirrel hadn't stuttered at all during the exchange. Was Quirrel just pretending to be a scared little duckling?

Harry's feet led him back like lead. He moved slowly, not putting too much emphasis on any of the points he'd learned.

There was a bright side to all of this: It was nearly certainly a Hogwarts teacher who had done this.

Harry nodded, and turned for bed. In the morning, he had a will to write.

*There is an entire field of study that designs acoustical structures like auditoriums. You want bouncy walls for music, and deadening walls for speeches.

[a/n: I hope i've made it sufficiently ambiguous that it makes sense that Harry would at least consider Snape as a suspect. Leave reviews!]


	127. Near the hospital wing

Harry didn't like the infirmary. It smelled like antiseptic - magical antiseptic that burnt your nostrils. And he didn't like the woman inside. She seemed nosy, the type who might do more than just fix the problem of the moment. However, this night, he was a few rooms down the hallway, in an abandoned old classroom. He had his first year Charms book out (He'd already got it nearly memorized), but of course that wasn't the point.

"Move along, Mister Weasley... and the Other Mister Weasley." Snape snapped, "Your pranks will go undone today, as they would otherwise be met with a firm prejudice."

The twins didn't say anything (and Harry knew Snape was helping Amelia Greengrass to the Infirmary), but Snape continued nonetheless, "Putting first years in danger is an offense best dealt with using expulsion."

Harry didn't need to see the twins to see their faces, smirking and then nodding at the Professor.

"Do you need a lift, sir?" one twin asked, deceptively nicely.

"That will be unnecessary." Snape said coldly.

"But not insufficient!" the other one cackled - but spun in the opposite direction, casting the spell over the entire hallway. Both twins swam through the air on the way down the corridor.

That was the twins for you, mayhem and misery. They were quieter than you would believe, more patient than their manners suggested. They didn't pull punches, but they also _didn't punch people who were already down_. Keen eyes, sharp ears.

And Harry could smile, a little bit, knowing that floors away, a Staff Meeting was midway in progress. And Severus Snape was helping little Amelia Greengrass to the infirmary. Not that Snape would ever admit to liking being helpful. But he did like it.

And Harry could enjoy the lack of irritated Potions Master for the rest of the week!

This wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. Harry had the vague impression that Minerva McGonagall knew what was going on, she seemed to be smirking a lot lately... Snape, however, hadn't even a shred of suspicion.

Life Was Sweet.

[a/n: Reviews?]


	128. Sardinian Tears

Harry and Ron were headed to Hagrid's. Hermione woulda come with, but she was busy revising. That just meant that it was best if Harry kept Ron distracted for a while. Ron had the unfortunate ability to destroy Hermione's concentration, which would lead to wrathful beatings with parchment and occasionally heavy books.

Hagrid hadn't wanted to let them inside his hut, and when Harry and Ron were inside, they were nearly suffocated by the stifling heat. It turns out that Hagrid had somehow, through frankly scurrilous means (that Harry's first encounter with him would have had him saying was impossible!), gotten ahold of a dragon's egg.

A Dragon's Egg.

Even Harry knew that was a bad idea. Hagrid's hut was mud and daub, but it had a thatch roof, and didn't seem terribly watertight without a roof.

Plus, DRAGON.

Harry and Ron did their obligatory oohing and ahhing over the dragon, before they hightailed it back to Hermione, to figure out just what Hagrid had gotten himself into. Ron might have been a git at first, but Hagrid's genuine niceness had won over the small redhead.

* * *

Hermione was not pleased, to say the least. Harry hated distracting her (even though he knew she'd wear herself to the bone studying), but this was Important. Hagrid was a friend, and Harry didn't want him living out in the Forbidden Forest. Or wherever a Dumbledore might stash a half-giant who'd outlived his usefulness. Harry hoped that didn't mean killing the poor oaf, although pushing him out into the Forbidden Forest might be tantamount to the same thing.

* * *

Harry thought he had things well in hand, until the next time he was out at Hagrid's hut, about a week later. Hermione had even come down, it had been such a nice day. Harry rapidly learnt - through nearly colliding with the flying dragon - that they didn't have any time at all to come up with a plan. And, a week later, this is obviously the time when Ron Weasley thinks to mention his brother Charlie. Obviously.

Worse, Harry swore he'd seen Malfoy skulking around behind them. The last thing they needed was to have Malfoy call his father, so Harry knew he had to implicate the slick git. But how? Harry wondered. Simply as pie, just ask for help.

* * *

Later, Harry followed Malfoy around, under his Invisibility Cloak. He smiled as Malfoy chose a deserted classroom - probably to practice some spells. Harry entered (Malfoy hadn't actually closed the door, but as it was a deserted hallway, that was probably just common sense.), and closed the door, making Malfoy jump.

"I know you saw us." Harry started.

"Yeah? And?" Malfoy said, proving once again what a sad-sack Slytherin he was.

"You want in?" Harry offered, "We could use some help..."

"What kind of help?" Malfoy said.

"Well, we've already got a home for the dragon..." Harry said, "But there's not all that much about proper safety precautions..."

Draco Malfoy straightened, "I could help with that, but what's in it for me?"

Harry smiled, "How would you like to see full fledged dragons, big as a house?"

Draco's eyes gleamed. "Done."

In the next two hours, Harry learned more than he ever wanted to know about spells for burns, dragonhide armor, and the proper use of bubblehead charms. How they were going to manage to get half this stuff, or learn the spells in time... It boggled the mind.

Draco Malfoy stuck his hands in his pockets, asking casually, "I suppose you'll need some help with the more custom items on the list."

Harry Potter nodded.

"I'll see what I can do," Malfoy said, gliding out of the room. "Neat trick with the cloak," he said, letting the words carry on the non-existent breeze.

[a/n: I was split on doing this, in the first place, adn then I was doubly split on letting Malfoy join in. Malfoy's still not friends with them, at all.

Reviews entice me into writing more!]


	129. Finally Here

Dragon Disposal Day was April 10th. Harry and Hermione, mainly, had planned the route. Malfoy had mostly provided criticism - which Harry appreciated a lot more than Hermione did. That was due to Malfoy's tendency to call her Mudblood at most opportunities.

Somehow, Harry had managed to cobble together the right clothing, for himself and Hermione at least. Ron was borrowing his brother's old clothes, and whatever Malfoy did, harry just hoped he stayed out of the way.

Nearly midnight, and here they were walking out to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Not that Harry truly thought there would be a werewolf. But unicorns were scary enough, if they got angry. Let alone some of the other creatures.

"Hagrid!" Hermione had gotten over there quicker. Ron was looking like if he had half a wit he'd be afraid, but lacking that, he was staring slackjawed at the dark Forbidden Forest. Nervous, Harry grabbed onto one of Ron's hands, and planted his feet. Luckily it wasn't a Will O The Wisp that had so mesmerized the Weasel.

Getting the Dragon into the spellbound cage proved difficult. Who knew that dragons could smell magic? Well, at least the dragon-controlling kind. Halfway through their war with Norbert, Malfoy barreled in - dressed in the latest smashing fashions for Dragoneering. This naturally distracted Ron, for juuust long enough. Harry used his face and Hermione's to lure the dragon into the small cage. Or maybe the dragon was just teething...

They were halfway up the tower when Professor McGonagall appeared. "A little late, Mister Malfoy. No trouble I take it?" Ron and Hermione were glaring daggers at Malfoy, and Harry was sorely tempted to, as well. But he didn't want Prof. McGonagall getting the wrong idea, and it was child's play to know she cared about school unity rubbish and all that.

Draco quietly agreed that there'd been no trouble. "The Dragon didn't know that the cage was the best place for it, so we needed to persuade it so."

"Well, lets get on with it. The dragontamers won't wait for no man." Prof McGonagall said crisply. Ron and Hermione were pulling faces behind Draco's back, which had Harry smirking. Malfoy could act like a total tool, but Harry's friends knew what was up.

Eventually they made their way to the top of the Astronomy Tower - yes, even the Professor, sternly informing them that a Class S creature ought not to be shipped around without care and consideration.

At the end, it seemed almost like a letdown. Charlie's friends just hung in the air, and Ron gave them the dragon. Then they flew off, in formation on their broomsticks.

Professor McGonagall said, "Well, it's been a long night. That will be ten points off each for the Gryffindors, and fifteen for Slytherin. Nobody likes a tattler. You have one detention for this, and will have another if you don't go straight to your dormitories."

"Yes Professor" they chimed.

After the Professor had disappeared, Harry turned on Malfoy, "You got a Professor involved?"

Malfoy somehow managed both an indifferent shrug and a smirk at the same time. "You asked for all the safety precautions. A teacher's the last on the list."

Typical Malfoy, Harry thought.

[a/n: Harry still doesn't like trusting adults. Or anyone, really. Leave a review?]


	130. Forbidden Forest

Detention was at 7 o'clock. Harry Potter was well-prepared to hate detention with Professor McGonagall. Perhaps she'd have them doing something stupidly demeaning, like making matchlike needles. Over and over again, for no point. and then reverting them to silvery matches. For _hours_.

He hadn't expected her to simply turn over the detention to Argus Filch. Harry wouldn't have minded some cleaning - maybe a trophy case or two? Bloody hell, the Great Hall, they had enough students here that they could get it done by Monday. "No food until it's cleaned - not for you or any of the students neither!" Harry wanted to smile at that thought.

But Harry was in the Forbidden Forest. He was with Hagrid and Hermione, as Hagrid, in his fractured wisdom, had sent Ron, Draco and Fang off together. Everyone else had gotten the clue that it would be a bad idea.

The Forbidden Forest, it turned out, looked a lot like a normal forest. It was dark, and creepy and at night there were many unexplained sojunds. Was that a tiger? Harry thought, then began to silently laugh at himself.

Still, they ventured in, Hagrid explaining that they were looking for unicorn's blood, to determine why someone's stealing it and using it for personal consumption.

Now, in the movies, there's all sorts of avian sounds in the middle of the night in a forest.

This was not a movie, however, and so the sounds were skittery things, the swoosh of leaves and the breaking of sticks.

The Breaking of Sticks.

Harry whirled, his wand in his hand, trying to see what it was.

Nothing - at least nothing he could see. Hermione was also looking back, and Harry looked at her, hissing, "Keep sight of Hagrid."

Hermione, of course, asked, "What did you see?"

"Nothing, so far as I know." Harry said. He swore he saw yellow eyes glittering out of the darkness, but then just chalked it up to an overactive imagination.

The rustly quiet of the forest was suddenly rent with a scream; someone hollered for help like the entire Wild Hunt was bearing down on him alone.

[a/n: Well, I tried to make it better than the books. Because you know what happens, at least. Reviews, as always, make me write more.]


	131. The pallid git

Together, Hermione, Hagrid and I ran over to the source of the scream, only to find Ron Weasley with his hands in fists, hollering at the top of his lungs at Draco Malfoy, "It's not FUNNY!"

I crossed my arms, half in relief and half in exasperation, "Alright, what did he do?"

"Spiders! He started talking about spiders!" Ron said. Everyone started to wear expressions of disbelief. _He'd been shrieking because of that?!_

Malfoy smirked, smug as a cat, "That's not all I did."

"Bloody hell !" Ron said, "Then he ran his fingers along the nape of my neck, making this chittering sound."

Hagrid said, kindly, "Spiders are people too, leastaways the ones in the Forbidden Forest. Ye can talk to 'em, ya know?"

" **I HATE SPIDERS!** " Ron hollered, as loud as possible. It echoed through the trees.

Hagrid said, slowly, "Alright, alright, who wants to be with Fang and Malfoy, then?"

Harry really, really didn't. But he knew his temper was a better match for Malfoy's 'pranks.' Hermione was the type to punch first and feel upset later. And they were really supposed to be ... looking for unicorn killers.

Harry really, really really didn't want to go with Malfoy. "Suppose It'd better be me, then." he muttered, stepping forward.

The forest was loud, as they walked away from Hagrid's group. Un-fortunately, Malfoy was loud too, making it hard to hear anyone sneaking up on them.

"I live beside a forest you know, not a real forest, but this one isn't real either." Draco Malfoy said smugly.

Now, Harry Potter didn't want to give him the time of day, but he found his curiosity, burn it to pieces, rising, "What do you mean, real forest?"

"Real forests haven't seen axes, not really. Big and dark and gloomy. You know, the type they write childhood tales about." Draco said smugly.

"Like Hansel and Gretl?" Harry said, not that he'd read it, just wanted to stump Malfoy.

"What's that?" Malfoy said. Stumped. Harry suppressed a smirk.

"A fairy tale." Harry said, "You know, what the Muggles tell their kids."

"Oh." Malfoy said, looking less like he wanted to sneer and more like he wanted to read it. He quickly masked that impulse.

In the ensuing silence, Malfoy lowered his voice. "Something's wrong" he said in a voice quieter than a whisper.

"What?" Harry asked gamely, trying not to be afraid of being in the Forbidden Forest, with Fang and Malfoy, After Dark.

"Listen," Malfoy said.

Harry did. It sounded like even the rustling of trees had stopped. Maybe the wind had died? Harry felt more confident without the constant rustling, "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly," Malfoy said, "It's a forest, it makes sounds..."

"Except when there's danger afoot," Harry said, his voice as low as Malfoy's.

"It's up ahead," Malfoy said.

"How do you know?"

"The last few sound were from behind us. Moving away from us," Malfoy said.

Harry fingered his wand. Act like a Gryffindor, dammit. "Let's go," he bluffed, striding forward.

[a/n: I have no idea how the kids weren't completely catatonic afterwards. Leave a review!]


	132. A long way from home

Draco followed on Harry's heels, but Harry had no time for that. He was tense, ready for a fight. What had he been training for, if not this.

What he came upon was worse than he'd expected. There was a fallen unicorn, squealing a death cry (it looked like it had just been pounced before Harry came.) On it was some - half humanoid creature, black and somewhat shapeless. It hissed at him, seeming to flare bigger.

From behind him, Harry heard hoofbeats, and then an blue-fletched arrow struck the ground in front of the unicorn, which had ceased struggling.

Harry felt, rather than saw movement, and as his eyes found the unicorn, there was nothing else there. Whatever the thing, it had vanished.

"You're a long way from home," the bay centaur said, and Harry just stared for a moment, both in wonder, awe and fear.

"Been that way for a long time, I suppose." Harry said.

"You'll find home is closer than you think," The centaur said. "Would you like me to take you there?"

Harry nodded, having the vague idea that wherever the centaur took him, couldn't be worse than where he was now. And where exactly had Draco gone anyway?

"Well? Get on. You may call me Firenze" the centaur said.

"You honor me, Master of the woods." Harry says with a bow.

"Remember me, and tread carefully in the woods. Our hearts overflow with pain from man's inhumanity."

Harry nodded, somberly, "Harvest nothing so fully it shall not regrow, and leave nothing but footprints."

Harry jumped aboard, throwing himself belly down on the centaur's back, and then spinning and pulling himself up.

* * *

By the time Draco had returned with Weasley and Fang and Hagrid, Potter was quite gone. Weasley, of course, accused Draco of murdering his friend. Which was patently ridiculous, and Draco was just about to say so, when -

Hagrid spoke up, "Centaurs. They'll have him out in a trice." He looked at Malfoy, "No sign of the predator. Malfoy, I'll need to know everything."

That wasn't what Malfoy said first, first he just sputtered, "I don't know why Potter didn't follow me. That's not for a first year to deal with!"

"What?" Hagrid asked.

"It was dark, and black, and looked like a man, an obscenely stretched out one. It had just struck the unicorn, and we could hear it dying." Malfoy asked, "That won't have any ill effects on us, will it sir?"

"no, likely not," hagrid said.

[a/n: voldiemort! voila! reviews?]


	133. Doctor Dolittle at the High Table

Harry didn't like being in a school which had unicorn-feasters on premises. He said as much to Hermione.

What she said back, had him blinking - "At least that means they're weak. Someone tried to kill you Harry... what if they're related?"

"You think... Snape... would kill a unicorn?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head, glad that Ron wasn't around. "No, that whatever you saw wasn't Snape. They may be allies, or they may not. But it's a damn sight more likely that thing was trying to kill you. I mean, seriously, Snape is a Hogwarts Teacher. If there's any other possibility, I'm going to go with that. You'd think they'd have contracts to prevent teachers from harming students."

Harry smirked, glad that Hermione was finally seeing reason. "No, that's implausible. However, they probably have disciplinary reviews, and Snape was casting that counter-curse in front of Dumbledore himself, not to mention every single other teacher. You can't tell me McGonagall doesn't have some battle training, and Flitwick's a master duelist."

"Oh, that's right, Harry!" Hermione said, "I don't know why I hadn't thought of that earlier!"

"Easy," Harry said with a gentle smile, "You were so sure of yourself that you didn't consider alternatives."

"So what do you want to do, Harry?" Hermione said.

"I honestly feel a bit relieved, though I feel like someone ought to tell Dumbledore." Harry said.

"I bet Hagrid already has." Hermione said confidently.

* * *

Snape had finally figured out the jape people had played on him. Harry and the twins were informed about this when the hapless Ravenclaw pretending to have muscle-rending cramps was 'stupefied' instead of being hauled off to the infirmary. Snape had snapped, after the Ravenclaw was stunned, "Oh, I'll deal with you later."

The next day, Saturday, was the liveliest breakfast Hogwarts has ever seen. Quite a feat when you consider the Weasley Twins, and the Marauders.

Snape sat down to eat, early as usual, and the earlybirds in Ravenclaw sat down with him. The Slytherins arrived in perfect time and unison, showing up about twenty minutes later.

Harry Potter was early, as were the Twins and Hermione. Ron was impossible to wake, so they hadn't even tried.

Flitwick came in next, bustling with some papers he was still looking at. He poured himself some tea, stirring in some sugar, and then took a drink. Only to be transformed, instantly into a Hawk. Flustered, he flapped his wings, putting himself on top of the chair, and proceeding to cock an eye at the different pages.

Sitting beside Flitwick, Snape helpfully changed the page whenever Flitwick let out an ear-splitting shriek. Harry idly thought it was the least he could do.

Minerva McGonagall sat down next, giving a long look at Flitwick, before casting a detection spell on her utensils and plates. Finding them fine, she poured out of the same black coffee Snape had been drinking. She turned into a cat, and a saucer of whipped cream appeared. She proceeded to devour it, only at the end licking her whiskers to remove the cream.

Sprout tutted at the rest of the table, but didn't actually cast anything. Harry thought that was because she wanted to insist that she'd never been a part of the initial prank. Harry thought, as well, that she didn't know Snape very well. She turned into a koala, that proceeded to hug the highbacked chair, climbing up it until she found some eucalpytus leaves.

By this point most of the tables were laughing.

Hooch turned into a catbird, and proceeded to try to roost in Snape's hair - something she would only desist when he threw a hex at her.

Dumbledore sat down last, and the entire hall seemed to quiet, as he asked Severus Snape, "Are you doing your best Doctor Dolittle impression today?"

Snape merely responded, "mmm."

Dumbledore proceeded to cast ever-increasingly elaborate detection spells (Harry found himself desperately wishing for a parchment). When he was finally satisfied, he took a cautious sip of his English Breakfast tea. At which point he seemed to shrink in on himself, turning into a Black Mamba - long and skinny, and very very poisonous. Snape snapped his fingers, and out of nowhere, a plump rat appeared.

Ron, who had arrived sometime earlier to little fanfare, hurriedly checked his pockets to make certain Scabbers was still there.

[a/n: Dumbledore isn't as good at being a mastermind as he pretends. How did snape pull it off? Leave a review!]


	134. Nothing of it

Harry Potter was rapidly becoming certain that he had _idiots_ for friends.

They thought Snape was after the Stone, and they -both- wanted to stalk him.

Nevermind that they had classes, and if Harry was going to steal something, he'd either do it during class or after curfew. Actually, he'd probably do it at 3am, when even the guard dog was sleeping.

They wouldn't listen to him at all, either. Even when he'd said he'd have nothing of it.

This just made tonight's detention all that much worse. 'You'll tell us what he's up to, won't you Harry?' Ron had asked. Hermione had simply looked gleeful, and said, 'I'll help you with your charms work afterwards, I promise.'

She wouldn't be having this much trouble with her studies if she'd just STUDY and not STALK TEACHERS.

Harry Potter almost wanted to talk with Severus Snape about this. It was the sort of thing that he'd probably find hilarious. "My friends are IDIOTS, but what did you expect? They're Gryffindors!"

Snape was about the only person in the entire castle who would understand. Understand, and not seek to twist such a simple sentiment. Nott might listen, but he'd want to twist Harry towards himself. Malfoy wouldn't understand.

Snape _would_ , Harry thought, tell him to make better friends.

If only it were that simple.

* * *

Snape was in more of a mood during Harry's detention, and Harry didn't have the chutzpah to ask about why Snape was so mad. Had Hermione ruined something Snape was working on? Not a potion, she'd never do that, not willingly. But... a scheme?

Snape being moody didn't change Harry's assignment, of course. It was always the same, scrub cauldrons until the cauldron pile was done. If he hadn't spent enough time, he got another detention. Harry knew that this year he'd done quadruple what anyone had ever done during a year. (the Twins had the record before this, and that was because they got in an _unbelievable_ amount of trouble, and people tended to count them together).

"Get out of here," was all Snape said to Potter.

At least no one was around to beat the crap out of him.

[a/n: Harry's had a rough life. His scheme doesn't last an eyeblink if he says _anything_ to Snape. Leave a review?]


	135. The Ooga Booga game

Harry Potter wasn't _adverse_ to mischief. Particularly when it got him out of having to spend Every Evening with Ron Weasley.

In fact, once that became the goal, he couldn't get the idea out of his head. It took a little time to plan out what he wanted to say, and a bit longer to vet it with Hermione, who didn't seem very impressed at his maturity. Well, she could go hang. She didn't spend nearly as much time with the Tiresome Oaf as Harry did - and the last three times ron had splashed golden syrup in Harry's hair, Hermione had escaped unscathed. (Harry was rather willfully ignoring that the time before that, Ron had gotten some molasses into Hermione's hair, and she'd had to cut it out).

"Hey Ron," Harry started out, encouraged when Ron looked up at him, and then feeling quite stupid for needing 'encouragement' to talk.

"Whut?" Ron asked. At least Harry wasn't talking at table. At table, Ron had the ability to spit food while talking. Harry rather pitied his mother.

"Did you know that Muggles think they know magic words?"

"Really?" Ron asked, and Harry could practically hear other people listening around them.

"Yeah, like Abracadabra." Harry said, and cringed when two Gryffindors flinched at the word. "What's wrong with saying that?" Harry asked, in a tone not much louder than a whisper.

Ron said, "The correct words... and I'm going to space them out so people don't flinch, is Avada - the entire spell is Unforgiveable, you know - Kedavra."

Harry asked, "What's an unforgiveable?" He knew, of course, but Ron wouldn't expect him to. Ron's da worked for the ministry, too, he might have something interesting to say.

Ron replied, "Only the worst spells get called that. A straight ticket to Azkaban, they are." Or... or Ron could just say that. And, as was typical, Harry was going to have to ask about prison.

"What's Azkaban?" Harry asked. Luckily for his sanity, Neville decided to say something.

"Azkaban is a horrible place where they lock up the terminally criminal." Neville said.

"They... they _kill_ them?" Harry asked, acting his way out - he wasn't morally opposed to murder, in a Kantian sort of way.

"Yeah," Ron said, "There's magical creatures there called Dementors, and then rip away all your happiness. And then you die."

Mental note: do not go to wizarding prison.

"hHere's some other muggle words: Ooga Booga." Harry said, watching carefully for another flinch. When ti didn't come Harry advanced. "I want to bet you that you can't jump out from around a corner and shout Ooga Booga at 10 Slytherins before the end of the week."

"You're on!" Ron said, smiling.

[a/n: reviews?]


	136. Fortune Favor the Foolish

Harry was down at Hagrid's again, about the only place where Ron Weasley was worth hanging around. Shared suffering and all that. Hermione was there too, of course, but she was always tolerable.

Hagrid was telling them about getting the Dragon's Egg, and how he'd told the bloke at the tavern about Fluffy... and incidentally, how to get around Fluffy.

Ron was looking at them, and saying, "We have to tell Dumbledore!"

Harry wanted to sigh. Actually, no, he'd rather just run straight into the Forbidden Forest for a few leagues. That would be saner. If Hagrid had told someone about his protection, there were still a dozen other protections, weren't there? From all the other teachers?

Harry rather thought that Hagrid's terrifying puppy would be the least dangerous. Flitwick was a champion duelist, who liked charms. Snape seemed to enjoy creating poisons a little too much, if you know what I mean. Sprout might have a non-lethal protection, but she was a badger - they guarded their dens fiercely.

This didn't seem like something to tell Dumbledore.

Besides, weren't strange adults _not allowed_ on Hogwarts soil? Harry knew that muggle schools knew better than to leave themselves open to randos snatching children. With brooms, they could probably get out of the wards before someone could find a teacher...

Still, Hermione and Ron wanted to go, and so Harry regretfully gave his excuses to Hagrid, "Ah, doncha mind daft ol' me. Just maundering in me old age, I swear!" Hagrid said with a grin.

People seemed to be inordinately fooled by Hagrid's strong accent. He was perfectly capable of using complex thoughts, and did so frequently.

He also apparently couldn't hold a secret to save his life.

Thanks, Hagrid.

The three of them raced to the castle (Ron, the tallest, winning by three strides), and then they scrambled upwards to the Headmaster's office, tossing out passwords to see if one stuck. Suddenly, the door beside the gargoyle opened, emitting Prof. McGonagall. "We need to see Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione said excitedly. "Urgent news! Interesting news!"

Leave it to Hermione to think interesting news would get Dumbledore's attention, Harry thought wryly.

"Well, I'm afraid that's impossible," Prof. McGonagall said, "He's just left for London, won't be back till morning."

"But... but we think Prof. Snape is after the Stone!" Ron said, and Harry rather abruptly wanted to curse Ron. _He_ didn't think that, not at all. Not that he appeared to have convincing reasons, if he couldn't convince two Gryffindors.

"I would trust Professor Snape with my life." Prof. McGonagall said, shaking her head ruefully, "I do trust him with yours, on a rather continual basis." She smiled at them, and it looked worn-thin, but still quite genuine. "Do you children have any idea how many potions injuries we used to have?" Prof. McGonagall looked sternly at them, "I thought not. Now, off with you, then. Daylight's a-burning, and this is the first day I'm allowed to send you out-of-doors."

Ron and Hermione shared a disgruntled look, but they dragged Harry out of sight of McGonagall regardless.

And then the fool was Harry, for who else would have assumed they'd listen to a teacher?

[a/n: Through the trapdoor, and into Narnia. Or puzzleland, in this case. Do leave a review!]


	137. That was almost pleasant

Were he sorted into any other house, Harry Potter would not be playing on a flute, as Ron Weasley opened the door to the death-defying room at the end of the Forbidden Corridor. Harry really didn't want to be here. He was convinced, as the other two weren't, that they were dead little chickens, no matter how bravely the cockerels crowed.

His music obviously displeased the giant three headed Fluffy, because the dog's ear gave a giant twitch, and then Fluffy was climbing to his feet, growling with his teeth barred.

Thinking quickly, Ron slammed the door in his face.

"What do we do?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not sure..." Harry said, slowly, "Maybe now we can go report the deadly beast to McGonagall? I can't imagine Dumbledore doing anything, but if she'd give detentions for dragging around a dragon, surely someone deserves some punishment for the Giant Chained Dog?" This was a quite promising line of thought, Harry thought eagerly.

"But what if we get detention?" Hermione said, "I've got a clean record, and it's not that I care about that-" Harry tuned out at this point, though Ron was quick to pooh-pooh the importance of records, Harry actually believed that having a Certified Good Girl nearby was good for his own reputation. She could vouch for him after all.

Unfortunately, before Harry could interrupt effectively (Hermione was like a freight train when bothered), there was a shaking of the floor.

Shite, Harry thought. It's gone back to sleep again. I'd been hoping to get the hell away from here before that happened.

"D' y' suppose something happened to the Fluffy?" Ron said. Harry wanted to cradle his head in his hands.

"Let's check!" Hermione said, as Harry carefully stowed the flute in a pocket. He wasn't good at playing, but he cherished the gift anyway, and knew he'd probably get better. Eventually.

"It's asleep!" Ron said happily. Harry was far less sanguine about the whole deal.

"And it's off the trap door. Oh goodie," Harry said, with sarcasm so acidic it might eat through the trapdoor on its lonesome.

Ron rushed over to the trap door, throwing it open. Harry had to practically hold Hermione back, hissing, "Let the fresh meat try the trapdoor. Who knows what's under there."

"Harry!" Hermione said, in a very low voice, softer than a whisper. Nonetheless, she clearly saw the wisdom he was offering, as she stopped trying to get closer.

"It's... it's a plant?" Ron said.

Harry, who had more patience in Herbology than Hermione and Ron combined, said, "Let me take a look. I might recognize it." Ron gave him a disbelieving look (clearly he didn't think Muggleborn half-bloods would know about Magical Plants).

Harry frowned, "I'm not sure which of the light-fearing plants this is, but I recognize the leaves. all you need to do is cast Lumos." Which Harry did, and the plant retreated.

Ron, meanwhile, like a monkey, was squatting at the edge of the trapdoor, leaning over, and saying, "That's a long way down."

Harry dropped the lumos, looking over the edge from a discrete distance and standing up, like a normal person.

[a/n: I've seen a bunch of different renditions of this. I'm hoping a much more cautious Harry should be entertaining enough reading. Reviews, as always, mean more story!]


	138. H&H

Harry's mood got worse, once he was down the trapdoor, along with the two Gryffindors. Allies, he corrected, though he wanted to throw them into the next trap he could find. In the next room were flying keys. And brooms. Harry's eyes slitted at that. Was this something that Hooch had come up with? At any rate, what kind of a task was it when two of three first years could get past?

The next challenge was chess. Harry sighed. It was almost as if they were trying to make this EASY for three first years. No. For the three first years that were here. Harry felt a sudden swoop of dread in his stomach.

Ron had stepped onto the chessboard, before Harry could say a word. When Hermione went to join Ron, Harry's arm barred the way. "It's a trap," Harry spoke quietly.

"Admiral Ackbar!" Hermione gasped. Her eyes weren't nearly as merry as the quip warranted.

Harry's green, somber eyes found her, "We'll fly across."

"And what, leave me here?" Ron said, trying and failing to get off the board.

"You fell into the trap." Harry said, "I'm sorry mate, but at least it isn't spiders."

And that, as Harry had expected, did the trick. Harry hurriedly flew Hermione across the chessboard and into the next room.

In turn, it was empty, but stunk of troll. Harry made sure to close the door to Ron's room, no matter his protests. Then Hermione and himself started casting spells at the doorway.

Nothing.

Tentatively, they approached, and then entered, hand in hand. Harry didn't want to admit how clammy his hand was. Nerves.

Suddenly, fire erupted, from the doorway in front of them - black fire. And Harry felt a distressing heat from behind them. He whirled, looking into the purple fire.

 _We're trapped._

Hermione, meanwhile, had approached the table. "It's a riddle!"

"Do we trust whomever wrote it?" Harry said, "Or that Quirrel hasn't rewritten it?"

"What other choice do we have?" Hermione said, already reading it. "Besides, only two of the seven are poison."

"We could, I don't know, just wait for help. Three missing students should cause some alarm, eventually." Harry said, sighing. He already knew that his protest wouldn't work. If he'd actually thought it would, he'd have made it earlier. Cautious Hermione might be, but she was also stupidly brave. _At least the mention of poison means someone probably hasn't tampered with the riddle._

[a/n: Harry was going to let Ron have his moment in the sun. And then he remembered it was Wizard's Chess. Unhurt ron hurt ron. Leave a review!]


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